


To Save An Angel...

by boredom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse, Angels are Dicks, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Crowley saves Aziraphale, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nobody Uses Their Words Properly, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredom/pseuds/boredom
Summary: You first have to admit there is a problem.After Amergeddon things were supposed to be moving forward. They were supposed to be getting closer. That’s not what happened and in a moment of frustration, Crowley sought out an argument. Words were said. Feelings were hurt. Doors were slammed. Crowley is willing to apologize, willing to admit he’s wrong. There’s just one problem:He can’t find his angel.Trigger warnings: Depression, Talk of suicide, Abuse (Mental and physical), anxiety





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the trigger warnings and stay safe. There will be dark themes discussed in this work. Know your limits and be safe.

Things were supposed to change. Things were supposed to be different. Crowley didn’t expect Aziraphale to immediately drop all of his baggage and leap into his arms. He wasn’t stupid. But he did expect for them to have some sort of forward motion. _ You go to fast for me. _ Well, how much slower could Crowley go? He had been going at a snail’s pace for centuries, millenia even. At some points, it felt like they had stopped moving all together. __

_ _He was getting tired, so tired of the same old song and dance. He would ask Aziraphale for something. Aziraphale would say no. He’d ask again, Aziraphale would say yes. When they were “enemies”, this made sense. It created plausible deniability and helped throw off their respective sides. _ _

_ _They didn’t need to do this anymore. _ _

_ _But they did. And Crowley was sick of it. _ _

_ _Yeah, Heaven wasn’t great, he knew, he used to live there. But it was no Hell when it came to torture. Yeah, Aziraphale was definitely mistreated by his superiors (“Just shut your stupid mouth and die already!” It made Crowley’s blood boil). But they had to move past it. They had to move forward and it was just… It was just like Aziraphale didn’t even care! Like he liked being in this half relationship where they never talked about anything or did anything. Crowley didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity, or until the next big one happened, dancing around Aziraphale because Aziraphale was too goddamn scared to do anything!_ _

_ _He tried to be patient. Really, he did. He tried so hard to go slow. Maybe he should have brought up his concerns to Aziraphale earlier. Maybe he shouldn’t have let these doubts and feelings fester until they were bursting from him. Maybe, he should have acted like a fucking adult and actually talked to Aziraphale. _ _

_ _He didn’t. _ _

_ _Instead, he let it build and build and build and build until words that he didn’t mean were pouring out of his mouth. He couldn’t control it, and he wanted to get 6000 years of frustration out. It was too bad he was taking it out on Aziraphale. _ _

_ _“Why do you act like you’re the only one with problems?” he shouted. Had he been in a more calm state, he would have noticed Aziraphale’s hands gripping the book, knuckles white with anxiety. As it was, he just wanted the angel to recognize his problems for once. _ _

_ _“I don’t act like that!” Aziraphale shouted back. _ _

_ _“You do! It’s always about you. What you want, what you need, what you’re doing. You’re past, you’re anxiety, you’re everything.” When’s the last time Crowley got to talk about his fall? When’s the last time Aziraphale helped him? When’s the last time it was about Crowley’s traumas? He had more than Aziraphale, that’s for sure. And yet, they never talked about it. It was always Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale. Well, no more. They weren’t going to ignore Crolwey any more. _ _

_ _“Well, you’ve never complained about it before.” _ _

_ _He didn’t notice the slight tremor in the angel’s voice. He didn’t notice the tears in his eyes. _ _

_ _“Yeah, because you’ve never given me a fucking chance!” _ _

_ _He didn’t notice the flinch, the stumble back to the bookshelf as if he had been slapped. _ _

_ _“I can’t read your mind, Crawly.” _ _

_ _It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Time stood still, even though Crowley did not stop it. Aziraphale had not called him that since… since King Arthur. The only people who called him that were demons and angels, demons and angels who were especially keen to remind him that he wasn’t human. _ _

_ _“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “I’m so--”_ _

_ _“Shut up,” he hissed. All this time, all these years. He had suspected that Aziraphale saw him as no more than a lowly, unforgivable demon. He made a point to remind him time and time again. He had hoped it was a joke, or at least a byproduct of fear. _ _

_ _“I didn’t mean--”_ _

_ _“You did mean it!” He shouted. This time Aziraphale stumbled back into a table, knocking it over and falling to the ground. Crowley got a sick sort of vindication from it. If Aziraphale thought of him as a demon, then he should be scared. Served him right for not trusting him after all they had been through. _ _

_ _“You,” he pointed a finger at him, trying to form the words. “You, you.” Nothing would form, he couldn’t think. He was glad he was wearing glasses, though in a few seconds, the tears would start to drip down his cheeks. _ _

_ _“Why do you hate me so much?” He didn’t know if he was talking to God, or to Aziraphale. Both would do in this instance. He wanted to be loved. Was that so much to ask for? He thought Aziraphale wanted him. He thought Aziraphale had seen all his bad parts, his ugly parts, the parts that made him so undesirable in Heaven, and loved him anyways. He thought Aziraphale was different. He thought he could finally be happy. He wanted to be happy and no one was letting him. _ _

_ _Why didn’t Aziraphale want him? What did he do wrong? Why did he always fail? Why did God create him if he was just going to fuck everything up time and time again. _ _

_ _He couldn’t take this. He couldn’t deal with this. He didn’t have to deal with this. _ _

_ _“Fuck you,” he hissed, spinning to the door and slamming it shut with enough force to shatter the glass. _ _

_ _oOoOoOo_ _

_ _Aziraphale was frozen on the floor, hand pressed to his mouth. “Oh, what have I done?” _ _

_ _It seemed as though Heaven was right; he was a failure. Everything he tried to do ended up a big tangled mess. He had hoped his relationship with Crowley would be different. He thought maybe he could mask his shortcomings and be perfect for this one being. He did love Crowley so. _ _

_ _Turns out, he was still a failure. He had tried so hard to be perfect, but it didn’t work. It never worked. He wanted more with Crowley. He wanted to move in together, to hold hands, maybe even to kiss. Maybe even more. But each time Crowley pushed, Aziraphale remembered the pain and torture he had endured every other time he had failed. He remembered the dark, empty room they kept him for years at a time. He remembered the tools, the instruments, the fists. He remembered begging to die and not being allowed that one respite. _ _

_ _Logically, he knew Crowley would never hurt him. He knew this, and yet, did he really? After all, Heaven was supposed to love him and they hated him, made it clear with words spat out like they were addressing the most vile creature in existence. Angels who seemed to like him, deciding he was too needy, too soft, and ripping open his flesh to “toughen him up”. _ _

_ _He wanted to die, had wanted to die for awhile. When Armageddon had failed, Aziraphale knew Heaven and Hell were going to punish them. When he figured out that he was going to be executed via hellfire, he was relieved. Sure, he would cease to exist, but so would the pain. His human corporation was reasonably comfortable. His true form was anything but. Hardly any of the injuries had healed correctly. If he was in Heaven for any length of time, he started to be in so much pain, he would often black out. _ _

_ _The hellfire was a coward’s way out, but it was a way out. He could die and never have to hurt again. There was just one problem: Crowley. Crowley would have to endure the holy water. Aziraphale could not justify sacrificing Crowley. He loved him so much and would be willing to endure billions of years worth of pain if it meant that Crowley could be safe. So he switched, longing to be unholy enough that the holy water might just kill him. _ _

_ _It wasn’t. _ _

_ _He smiled and laughed with Crowley. He thought they could move forward. _ _

_ _Then the angels started tormenting him again. He saw the angels hovering in the background. He felt their presence wherever they went. They weren’t touching him, but they were still torturing him, still controlling him in any way they could. Food that was fresh suddenly turned rotten in his mouth. Books disappeared from his shop. Pans that were not hot burned him. _ _

_ _He fantasized about going back to Heaven and telling them to try the hellfire one more time, without switching with Crowley. Of course, if he did that, their ruse might be discovered and Crowley would likely be killed. It was selfish to fantasize about such things. So he endured it. He endured the torture, the torment, the fear. _ _

_ _He had to protect Crowley. He was doing this for Crowley. His life meant nothing. _ _

_ _It was better this way, better to get Crowley out of the way. What if the angels took it a step further and started hurting him? Aziraphale couldn’t live with that possibility. No, it was good that Crowley was gone, out of his life. He could finally move forward, do the things he always wanted to do but couldn’t because of Hell. _ _

_ _He miracled the window back and set up the table. His heart hurt. Everything hurt. He was alone and scared and it was all his fault. If he was a better angel, a better friend, none of this would have happened. But he was a disgrace and nothing he did would ever make things any better. _ _

_ _Tears were running down his cheeks. He had no right to cry. Not after what he did to Crowley. _ _

_ _He wanted him back. He wanted him here to hug him and protect him like he always did when he was in trouble. _ _

_ _He sat down next to the telephone. He was weak. He was so weak and pathetic. Maybe he should sneak into Hell and get the hellfire for himself. He picked up the phone and dialed Crowley’s number. _ _

_ _He didn’t pick up. Aziraphale should hang up. He should let Crowley go. Crowley deserved so much better than him. There was a beep, the prompt to start speaking. _ _

_ _“Crowley, please, I’m so sorry.” He was sobbing now. Pathetic. Lazy. Weak. Foolish. He should just die. It would make everyone’s lives easier. “I haven’t been telling you everything that’s happened. I wanted to protect you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” _ _

_ _He hung up the phone and waited. It never rang. _ _

_ _oOoOoOo_ _

_ _ Depression naps were the worst kind of naps, in Crowley’s opinion. You didn’t wake up feeling refreshed, you woke up feeling even worse than before. He rolled out of bed and walked to the window. _ _

_ _“Didn’t think it was supposed to rain today,” he muttered as he looked out at the grey city. _ _

_ _He had to decide what to do about Aziraphale. He knew it wasn’t right for the angel to ignore his pain and suffering. It also wasn’t right for Crowley to downplay Aziraphale’s suffering. Abuse was abuse whether they hit you or not. _ _

_ _He got dressed. “Maybe we both need therapists,” he said to his empty flat. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. It knew better than to land here. _ _

_ _“Can’t imagine how that’s going to go. ‘Yes, I’m an immortal demon who has mommy issues because I was kicked out of Heaven for daring to ask why the apple tree was in the middle of the garden. And why we kept having ambrosia for lunch every day.’ That’ll go over great.” _ _

_ _He sat down in his office and stared at the wall. He needed to talk to Aziraphale. They had to get past this if they were going to move forward together. _ _

_ _That was the plan, then. He was going to go to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Apologize for breaking the window and shouting, and then they were going to actually talk about their feelings like the 6000 year-old occult beings that they were! It wasn’t going to fix the problem immediately. Hell, it might not even fix the problem this year, but this habit of theirs had to stop. _ _

_ _He made a note to look up psychiatrists when he got back from Aziraphale’s and walked out the door. _ _

_ _Things seemed… different. Maybe it was just the effect of napping. Something about sleep cycles and whatnot, how waking up during a REM cycle was bad for you. Not that demons had REM cycles, but maybe they did. Crowley didn’t know the ins and outs of his anatomy. Had never really wanted to. _ _

_ _He pulled up to the bookshop and got out. _ _

_ _He stopped and looked at it. _ _

_ _“I-What?” The bookshop wasn’t a bookshop, it was a coffee shop. He looked around. Did he turn down the wrong street? Unlikely given the fact that this bookshop had been here since the 1860s. He could find this place blind, drunk, and asleep. _ _

_ _He looked around. The sex shop was still there. _ _

_ _“Hey, you can’t park there!” A woman said, pointing to the Bentley. _ _

_ _The cafe across the street was still there. He looked back at the coffee shop. Aziraphale loved sweets, but he wouldn’t have closed down the book shop for a change in career. _ _

_ _His heart was beating faster, his breathing was shallow. _ _

_ _ _ Calm down. It’s just a change in business. I’m sure Aziraphale will be happy to see you. ___ _ _

_ _ _ _He walked inside. It was wrong. It didn’t feel angelic. It didn’t smell like Aziraphale. Behind the counter was not a familiar angel. It was some fucking hipster with a beard and those weird earings that stretch your earlobes out. Aziraphale would never hire people to help out. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“What happened to the bookshop?” Crowley asked before he could stop himself. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _The bearded human looked up, surprised. “Um, it hasn’t been here for ages. Closed down a few years ago.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Years!” How long had Crowley slept?_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Just awful, the owner disappeared one day,” a woman sipping a cappuccino said. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I’m telling you, it was a front for the Mafia, and they didn’t need him any more so--” Her companion made a gesture that indicated Aziraphale’s throat had been slit. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Chelsea! That’s dark. Mr. Fell wasn’t working for the mafia.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Crowley couldn’t get his breathing to slow down. He forgot that he didn’t even need to breath. Aziraphale had disappeared, for… years? What? He had only been asleep for a few hours!_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Hey, mate, are you alright? Do you need to sit down?” A hand on his shoulder made him jump. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He had to get out of here. He had to find Aziraphale. He shoved his way out of the cafe and back onto the street. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He wasn’t at the British Museum. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He wasn’t on the Number 19 bus. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He wasn’t at the Bandstand. Crowley doubled over and vomited into some bushes. People wrinkled their noses as they walked by. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“He’s gone. He’s gone.” He collapsed onto the sidewalk. “Oh, God, what have I done? My best friend is gone.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _There was no response. Aziraphale was nowhere to be found._ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

Five years. Crowley had been asleep for five years. 

It wasn’t the longest he had ever slept, not by a long shot. However, it was the longest he had ever slept after an argument with Aziraphale, and that was the problem. 

He and Aziraphale didn’t argue. Not like this. Yes, they had had their spats over the years. It was impossible to be around each other this much and not get into arguments regularly. Those had been child’s play compared to what they just went through… um, what they went through five years ago. 

As Crowley sat on the steps of the bandstand, not moving for hours, he couldn’t help but mull over the events in his head. Why had he so suddenly snapped? More importantly, where was Aziraphale now?

Crowley still held the opinion that he had every right to be angry at Aziraphale. They hardly ever talked about him, only ever about what Aziraphale wanted and needed. True, Crowley had had a hand in making that the case. He downplayed his fall, switched the subject when he felt things were getting a bit too… emotional for his tastes. And he did tend to let Aziraphale be the victim more often than not. He wondered if that therapist he had looked up earlier would still be willing to help him sort through his mind. 

Aziraphale couldn’t read minds and that was the problem. Crowley needed him to help, to be there for him, to push him past his comfort zone and deal with his feelings. But Aziraphale didn’t know this because Crowley had never told him this. 

Alright, question one now had an answer: Crowley was going to find Aziraphale, apologize, and explain to him what he needed emotionally. 

There was still a problem: Aziraphale wasn’t here. 

He let his tongue flick out and taste the air. 

“Mommy, that man has a snake tongue!” A child cried. 

“That’s nice dear.” His beleaguered and exhausted mother answered. 

No scent of Aziraphale on the air at all. 

He let the tongue slip out again, just in case it was a bit rusty from not working for so long. 

Again, nothing but the smell of the city. Aziraphale’s scent could cut through the noise and go straight to Crowley. The fact that there didn’t even seem to be a trace anywhere made Crowley’s heart pound and the anxiety bubble up to the surface. 

He shook his head and stood up, walking in no particular direction. “No, he’s somewhere on this Earth. I just have to find him. I’ve found him before. I can find him again. He’s got to be somewhere.” 

He trekked on. In the back of his head, a third question was there, lurking like a demon on the edge of the graveyard. He hadn’t addressed the question, hadn’t even looked its way. But it was there. It had to be answered. Not even Crowley with his vast imagination could ignore it. 

_ Why had Aziraphale disappeared? _

oOoOoOo

Crowley decided the best way to find Aziraphale was to search through all of his favorite haunts. 

Aziraphale was a creature of habit and comfort. He would go where things were most familiar. He liked good food, good wine, and good books. There were little pockets like this all over the world and Crowley knew each of them intimately. He’d find that blasted angel and then they’d sit down and have an actual talk. 

_ Why did he disappear? _

“Shut up,” Crowley growled, stomping through the rainy Paris streets in search of a bakery that might house a celestial being with a penchant for brioche and crepes. 

“He’s angry at me. That’s why he disappeared. Probably lost track of time reading or something.” 

_ He disappeared for a reason. He wouldn’t have left London. Not after all this time. _

“Shut up. He’s fine. I’ll find him and then we’ll sort this all out. Five years, compared to six thousand, is not that long. It’s just a rough patch.” 

_ He flinched when you approached him. Why do you think-- _

“I said shut up!” He shouted. People around him jumped and backed away, not wanting to risk the wrath of the deranged Englishman shouting in the streets. 

Crowley paid no attention. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up! He’sss fine. He’sss got to be fine. I won’t accept anything lesss than fine.” He hissed. Hands gripping his hair. He might pull it out if he wasn’t careful. 

He took a deep breath, stood up, and headed down another street. Aziraphale didn’t seem to be in Paris. Crowley would go to Italy next. 

If he wasn’t there, then he’d go to... Japan? Did Aziraphale like Japan more or less than Morocco? Or was it Korea Aziraphale liked better? 

“I’ll visit them all if I have to. I know Aziraphale better than anyone. I’d know where he’d go. He wouldn’t run off to someplace he wasn’t comfortable with.”

_ Why did he disappear? _

“I’m going to Japan. He likes the hot springs.”

oOoOoOo

There’s a nature reserve not far from London. It’s a bit of a mystery. Questions like “Which government agency runs it?” and “When did it appear?” often go unanswered. 

It’s one of the lushest and thriving nature reserves in the world. Filled to the brim with native English plants and animals. Species on the brink of extinction often find refuge here. People who walk through it’s winding trails often feel refreshed, safe, and with a renewed sense of purpose. 

Women find the strength to leave their abusers here. Children find solace in the fact that they _ aren’t the only ones _. People with depression and anxiety often find it is heaps better by the time they leave the forest. Some say it can even cure cancer (studies pending). 

Despite these miracles, no one stays long. There is no overnight camping allowed, and even if there was, no one would participate in it. 

There’s something about the aura of the place, it’s not a place where one lingers. There’s an intense sadness that can make some more sensitive souls weep. 

Crowley knows nothing of this reserve because it only came into being about four years ago (not that there’s any record or it and as far as the citizens of the world are concerned, it’s existed since they were born). The real tragedy is that if Crowley had only spent some time thinking about _ why _ Aziraphale had disappeared, he likely would have found him in an hour.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter. I'll respond to all the reviews on the last chapter soon. I just wanted to get this one up before the week was out. Have a great weekend!

Crowley was sitting in some restaurant in Greenland. There was no logical reason Aziraphale would be in Greenland, but Crowley had convinced himself that the cold weather was perfect cocoa drinking weather and therefore Aziraphale would be here. Not that this kind of logic had worked for Minnesota, Norway, Sweden, Russia, Peru, Swaziland, Belize, Jamaica, France again, Uruguay, Ethiopia, or any of the other 195 UN-recognized countries. 

Crowley felt like he had scoured every single possible location Aziraphale could be. It had taken over a year and he had been to more book shops and bakeries than he ever thought possible. He started keeping a list of places to take Aziraphale when (_ if _) he ever found him. 

_ Why did he disappear? _

“He’s got to be somewhere. Maybe he went to Alpha Centauri.” He sipped his coffee and started making a plan to get to Alpha Centauri.

_ You’re the one who wanted to go to Alpha Centauri, not him. _

“He loves comfort and familiarity. I know him better than anyone.” 

The patrons in the restaurant long decided to ignore the weird man sitting in the corner mumbling to himself. Crowley looked terrible. Despite being an occult being who didn’t need food or sleep, he looked like he hadn’t slept in a year (true) and hadn’t eaten in a year (also true). His skin was sallow and dull, his eyes had dark circles that could be seen even with the sunglasses, his clothes were practically hanging off him, and his hair had the look of someone who repeatedly ran their hands through it and pulled at it, twisting it until it was in knots (extremely true). 

He felt shaky, jittery, and restless. Thoughts he did not want to entertain kept slamming into him, trying to force his attention. 

More than once he almost entertained the thought that Aziraphale was dead, that Heaven and Hell had finally gotten to him. He pushed the thought away as quickly as it had come. Aziraphale was alright. He was just somewhere where Crowley couldn’t find him. 

_ Crowley, you have to face facts. Something happened to Aziraphale. Why did he disappear? _

His inner monologue had really gained a personality. It was annoying. He should figure out a way to shut it up. 

“Alpha Centauri. Alpha Centauri. How do I get there?” 

_ Why? _

“Argh!” He shouted, throwing his cup on the floor and shattering it. The patrons jumped but made no move to stop him as he stormed out of the restaurant (the bill would miraculously be paid in full. No need to worry).

“You want to know why he vanished? Because I fucked up. I fucked up and yelled at him and then went and slept for five fucking years!” 

He wasn’t heading anywhere in particular, just storming through the streets, thoughts finally being allowed to be entertained. 

“I don’t know where he’s at. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. All I know is my best friend is gone and if I hadn’t gotten so angry; if I had just talked to him like a normal fucking person before it built up so much that I couldn’t control it…” He was outside of the city now, surrounded by the wild Greenland landscape. He sank down on a rock, head buried in his hands. 

“Oh, oh God, what have I done?” 

She didn’t answer him. She never answered him. 

Tears were streaking down his cheeks. “He’s not at Alpha Centauri. He’s not anywhere.” 

Curled in on himself, Crowley allowed himself to sob. It was ugly and disgraceful. He didn’t want to deal with this, not now, not ever. He wanted things to be fine. He wanted to be the suave, cool demon. He wanted to be like James Bond, effortlessly chic and sophisticated. 

But he wasn’t. 

He was anxious and terrified and scarred. Bad things happened to him and other people and he never knew why. He did what he could to help, in the beginning. But the world kept expanding and he couldn’t keep up. He gave up during the Spanish Inquisition. Nothing he did, no amount of children he saved, would ever be enough. He would never be enough. 

That’s why he hung around Aziraphale. His unwavering belief that the Almighty had a reason for doing the things she did made it seem like it would get better eventually. It needed to get better eventually. It couldn’t be getting consistently worse for six thousand years. Right? 

Crowley had messed it all up. He was the reason Aziraphale was gone. The tears finally slowed. 

“I hope that therapist is still practicing,” he muttered, wiping his nose. “She’s going to have her work cut out for her.” 

He had wanted Aziraphale to notice that he was hurting, to notice that he was having trouble with the horrors of the world. But Aziraphale wasn’t a mindreader. What’s more, he was going through his own issues. Heaven had mentally abused him for years. Crowley should have never downplayed it. 

He looked up at the sky. Aziraphale wouldn’t have left London for such an extended period. He wouldn’t be in Greenland (no offense, Greenland), he wouldn’t be galavanting around for five (now six) years. Crowley knew him better than anyone, which is why he had to admit that if Aziraphale wasn’t acting in character, it was because someone was forcing him to act out of character. 

He swallowed. It was time to head back to London. He had a prince of Hell and an asshole archangel he needed to talk to. 

“Hold on, Aziraphale, I’m coming for you.” He stood up feeling lighter than he had in ages. He was going to make this right. He was going to find his angel. He wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him, not anymore.

oOoOoOo

Aziraphale didn’t know how long he had been in the cave. He hoped Crowley was doing fine. He hoped the angels hadn’t gotten ahold of him. 

He shuddered, the ache in his soul turned sharp and he cried out. The chains on his wrists and ankles tightened and burned. He never thought he could feel such constant and intense pain and not die from it. This was proof that pain alone did not kill. 

Did the angels know the pain he was in? Or did they just assume the restraints would be the only cause? 

He hadn’t been in his true form for such a long period time since the Beginning. It hurt, it hurt so much. He begged and pleaded for it to end, but no one ever answered. 

_ “Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” Gabriel said as Sandalphon and a few other angels dragged him, beaten and bruised, in front of a stand. Aziraphale was confused as he hadn’t had a trial at his execution. _

_“You still need to be punished for what you did to disrupt the Great Plan. Since we can’t burn you away, we’ll just lock you away.” _

_“What?” He had known the angels were following him around and tormenting him, but he never thought they’d escalate._

_“Crowley,” he whimpered before he could stop himself. It was foolish to believe the angels didn’t know of his attachment to the demon, but he still shouldn’t have brought attention to it._

_Sandalphon smiled. “Don’t you worry, he’s not going to come for you. He’ll probably forget all about you once he wakes up.” _

No, Aziraphale had to believe that Crowley was out there, looking for him now. Or he would when he woke up. How long did Crowley normally sleep? Humans needed seven to nine hours, but he had slept for almost a century before. 

Oh, if it truly was a century, Aziraphale didn’t know if he’d be sane by the end of it. Everything hurt so much. He had taken what little power leaked through the restraints and used it to build a garden, something Crowley would be drawn to so he could find Aziraphale quickly. He poured every bit of his love and strength into this place, praying it would be enough to attract him. 

He just had to wait. He had to have faith. He had to believe. It may not have been part of the Great Plan, but he had to believe Crowley was part of the Ineffable Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Aziraphale at the end. Crowley is finally getting his act together and is on a mission. Let's hope he continues to stay focused so Aziraphale doesn't have to wait centuries to get out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning of some blatant reference to physical abuse. Nothing is shown but be safe. 
> 
> Warning for blood.

Crowley’s flat in Mayfair knew better than to let the lease expire or for dust to gather on the furniture, so it was still immaculate and his when he got back. Not that Crowley noticed. He had more important things to figure out. 

He kicked the door open with a bang dropped his coat on the floor and immediately went to his study. 

“I should probably go to Hell first, they’re terrified of me.” He was pacing the room, thoughts, and plans swirling around in his head. 

Angels and demons were the only ones capable of messing with an angel so if Crowley wanted to figure out what happened to Aziraphale, he had to go to the source. 

“But would Hell do anything to him?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the eagle statue he had collected after saving Aziraphale from the Nazis. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

He promised himself he would always be there to protect Aziraphale. He would always come and save him. He had done so well too. He could find Aziraphale anywhere in the world and be there in an instant to get him out of whatever situation he had gotten himself into. It killed him that he failed this time. 

“Stop it. Stop it now.” He growled. “You don’t know that you failed yet. Aziraphale might still be alive and even if that is the smallest of possibilities, you have to fight for it. Don’t say you’ve failed until his cold, lifeless body is in your hands.”

He didn’t have time to pity himself. He had spent a year doing that. If he was perfectly honest, he had spent six years doing that. What he had to deal with now was the crisis at hand. He would rescue Aziraphale and then they would work through their issues like actual people who wanted to improve their mental state and not just stay stuck forever. 

He let out another growl. “What would Hell have to gain from taking him? They aren’t trying to draw me out, otherwise, they would have contacted me. I know those wankers from upstairs have started working with them. Was it on their orders?” 

He stood by the window and looked out at the rainy London streets. He didn’t know why Aziraphale was so drawn to this place. There were millions of other places all over the world with better food and weather. Then again, one could say the same about him. 

From the beginning he was attached to an angel, his hereditary enemy. Any normal demon would have gotten rid of the bastard. But there was something about Aziraphale that was so comforting that he couldn’t help but stay near. 

“Speculation won’t get me anywhere.” He pushed off the window and grabbed his keys. “I’m visiting downstairs. If they don’t have the answers I want, then I’m going upstairs.” 

He paused at the statue and put a hand on the bird’s head. “I’m not stopping till I find you. I promise, angel.” 

His glasses were six years out of style and his phone was so old it would probably just confuse any cell phone store clerk he showed it to. His clothes were rumpled. His hair was disheveled. He didn’t look cool. He didn’t look suave. No one would mistake him for a James Bond-type spy. Hell, no one would probably mistake him for anything more than a beleaguered office worker at this point. 

And for the first time in his existence as a demon, Crowley didn’t care how he was perceived. He had his Bentley, he had his Best of Queen soundtrack, he had a mission. 

“I’m coming for you, Aziraphale. Just hold on a bit longer.” 

oOoOoOo

“Do you really still believe that demon is going to come for you?” Sandalphon said, his lips curling into a disgusting sneer. 

Besides Crowley, books were the things Aziraphale missed the most about his freedom. He missed going on fantastic adventures with characters, not knowing how the heroes were going to save the day, the suspense he got as two potential lovers inched closer and closer to each other. He wished he could have just one book to occupy his mind. 

Sandalphon yanked on the chains, dragging Aziraphale to him. The cuts, bruises, and burns igniting with pain as he was drug across the rough ground of the cave. “I asked you a question?”

Sandalphon didn’t like when people he deemed below him didn’t bow down to him. Aziraphale had learned a lot these past few years in the cave. 

“Why does it matter what I think or believe?” Aziraphale asked, forcing his voice to be calm and even. It tended to rile Sandalphon up even more when he wasn’t sniveling or begging for his life, but Aziraphale was determined to get out of this with at least some dignity. 

Sandalphon was kneeling next to him, his hand grabbing his essence and forcing Aziraphale to look at him. This did cause him to let out a whimper. To have his essence handled so roughly… he would have a migraine for the rest of the week, possibly month. If Sandalphon didn’t let go soon he might have more permanent damage. 

“You’re here because you need to be broken. You got too used to the human world and decided to rebel. Well, guess what, rebels need to be punished. The sooner you admit that demon isn’t coming anywhere near you, the sooner you can break completely.” 

He let go of him and Aziraphale collapsed into a heap on the floor, coughing and trying not to faint. 

“Once you’re broken, you can be rebuilt as a better angel.”

He didn’t need to look at Sandalphon to know that he was sneering. 

“That’s all we want for you, Aziraphale, to be a better angel? Don’t you want that too? If you’re a better angel, the Almighty won’t be so disappointed in you. Don’t you want the Almighty’s approval?” He was practically crooning those last few words. 

“If she didn’t approve of me, then why haven’t I fallen yet?” Oh, that was the wrong question to ask. It always made whoever was visiting him fly into a rage. They had such a hard time grasping the concept of ineffability. Clearly, God wanted Aziraphale to stop Armageddon, otherwise, she would have dealt with him a long time ago. 

But these angels were so bloodthirsty for a war that they ignored the very obvious hints that they were in the wrong. Aziraphale wished he could make his brothers and sisters understand. He wished they would stop. He wished Crowley would come and get him and they could finally start living their life. He had even started looking for small cottages outside of London they could possibly move into together. Ones with enough space for a garden and a library (there might be some minor miracle involved but that was okay). 

When Sandalphon was finally finished, Aziraphale couldn’t even muster the strength to turn over. His essence was now splattered across the cave, pooling grotesquely in some hollows, glowing faintly enough that he was able to see for the first time in months. It didn’t help his migraine. 

“That should teach you about talking back. Next time I won’t be so lenient.” 

He left Aziraphale in a pool of his own angelic blood. That was okay, though. It would seep into the ground and give his garden a heavenly glow. One of the things he had learned throughout his years in captivity is that angels rarely looked at the bigger picture. Sure, they knew there was a nature reserve surrounding the cave that hadn’t been there before, but because it didn’t connect directly with their goals, they paid it no heed. 

They thought Aziraphale was sitting quietly, unable to escape, only using his words as his last attempt at autonomy. 

This was also wrong. Crowley knew what he smelled like. Crowley knew what his essence looked like. Crowley knew him better than anyone else in the world. 

Aziraphale was not sitting by like a docile bird in a cage. When he had failed to break the chains himself, he decided instead to create a beacon for his wily old serpent. Each time they hurt him, each time they made him bleed, it was only becoming brighter. Maybe after this time, it could be seen from Heaven itself. 

Aziraphale smiled to himself, his blood soaking into the ground. “I believe in you, Crowley.” 

oOoOoOo

“Lord Beelzebub!” A terrified imp burst into their office. 

Beelzebub would have disintegrated it on the spot if had not been for the presence they felt stalking behind it. 

“Crowley,” they growled. What was that pathetic excuse for a demon doing here anyway? After all this time? 

“We couldn’t stop him.” The imp sniveled. 

Beelzebub was done with it’s cowering and promptly lit it on fire, its screams echoing through the corridor. 

They sat back at their desk, hands folded as if this was something they expected. Inside, though, they were terrified. Crowley wasn’t just stalking through Hell, he was stalking through Hell in his true form. Beelzebub understood why he was Lucifer’s favorite. The power radiating off of him… they had tried their best to contain it. It was easy to convince someone they were worthless if you showed no fear and beat them enough. Crowley never seemed to question why he always seemed to get the worst of it. He terrified Beelzebub, and now they had to deal with the monster they had created. 

He came into the room. Despite being a demon, his form still looked vaguely angelic. Not that that was any consolation. If anything, it made him more terrifying. Thousands of golden eyes and inky black wings enveloped his broken halos. He was taller than any mountain on Earth. He might break through the ceiling if this went on. He unfolded himself into the room, seeming to stretch out infinitely. Normally, angels of his caliber would be so full of light they’d blind whoever looked at him. Crowley was just the opposite. He was so blacklight itself got lost in him. And it was not because his soul was evil. 

That was perhaps the most terrifying thing of all. Crowley was not evil. He was barely demonic. He served only one master and that was himself. He was never loyal to God or to Lucifer. He only ever did what he wanted to do. Beelzebub and the others had tried to contain it, had tried to force him to accept Lucifer as his king. It did not work and now they were stuck with a creature with all the powers of hell, the form of an angel, and the wrath of someone who has lost something precious to him. 

“WHERE IS HE?” Crowley’s voice hurt their ears and it took everything they had not to buckle to their knees. 

“I don’t know.” They knew the angels were up to something. They knew they were planning something with their own traitor. But Beelzebub did not want to get involved. They were already too close. Any closer and they might just join sides. And then who would they fight? 

“I SEE YOU. I SEE EVERYTHING YOU’VE EVER DONE.” 

Beelzebub swallowed. “Then you’ll see that I don’t know what they did with the angel. We’ve left you alone. It’s not our fault upstairs doesn’t keep their word. It looks like they couldn’t stand to let go of even one of their soldiers.” 

Crowley did not move, and yet he seemed to come closer, looming over them to the point that Beelzebub had to look away from those eyes. It hurt. They were scared. 

“THIS IS NOT OVER.” Crowley said. He was leaving, his body almost like thick smoke as it twirled and contorted gracefully out the door. “I WILL FIND HIM AND YOU’D BETTER HOPE I DO NOT DECIDE TO HOLD YOU ACCOUNTABLE.” 

They were shaking now. All of Hell was trembling. They were certain that if Crowley were to go up against Satan himself, he would win. All of the work they had done to keep him from realizing his true power, he had broken through. He was no longer afraid. He was no longer theirs to control. 

He left Hell, the blackness he had brought with him disappearing as all the demons continued to cower. 

They had lost him. They had lost their best and greatest weapon. Beelzebub collapsed back in their chair, a migraine pounding at their head. They thought briefly about sending a message to upstairs and warning them of what was coming but decided better of it. Let those bastards face this problem themselves. 

Did Crowley even realize what he had done, or what he was capable of?


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley was not the type to regular be in a murdering mood. In general, Crowley did not like killing and wanted nothing to do with it. In general, Crowley liked minor inconveniences, not completely obliterating someone. In general, Crowley was not unable to find Aziraphale and certain that Heaven had something to do with his disappearance.

Hell had been a bit of a dead-end, he had expected that. It wasn’t their style to go after their pseudo-enemy’s enemy. Still, Crowley had gained useful information. Upstairs had been whispering about Aziraphale. They had been planning to do something to his angel. And Crowley was going to find out what. 

Yes, in general, Crowley did not regularly fantasize about ripping out throats or pulling off wings. And yet, today, he was fully content to let every murderous thought seep from his head and simmer in the air around him as he ascended into Heaven. 

He had expected the floor to burn his feet. Strangely, he felt nothing. Either he was so pissed that not even the holiness of Heaven dare affect him, or God was playing at something (he did not notice the burn marks his feet left in the floor). 

Angels were cowering in the corners, watching him in awe and horror as he marched by, not even giving them the time of day. He didn’t care about these ones. He only cared about a select few assholes who seemed particularly keen on making Aziraphale’s life hell. 

The air was hot around him, his suit and hair were singed from the hellfire barely contained by his corporeal form. He did not let his true form out. He didn’t think it would do any good and he did not want to risk dying when the extent of his demonic soul came in contact with Heaven. 

When he stepped in the archangels’ office, they were waiting for him, standing at the far end of the room as if he were being called up for a performance review. 

“What do you want, demon Crowley?” Uriel asked. 

“You know what I want. Where is he?” Crowley snarled. He had been in this room before, the room of Aziraphale’s execution. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Leave both of them alone? They lost and they should be grateful that God wasn’t punishing them for what they had done. 

“Why would we tell you anything?” Sandalphon (slimy, slimy Sandalphon) asked. “He’s an angel, he falls under our jurisdiction.” 

Oh, Crowley was going to strangle him. And then, he was going to pull out his feathers one by one. And then he was going to rip off each limb, one by one. He was going to enjoy it, too. 

“You did something to him. I am giving you a chance to come clean and tell me where he is.” Crowley began pacing the room. Outside, he could see the entire world. The Pyramids of Giza, the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China. All marvelous human inventions spread out below him, a testament to the human will. 

Gabriel laughed. He was afraid. Crowley could tell. “We don’t have to do anything. He’s our angel and if we want him back on our side, we have every right to pursue whatever course of action necessary to get him back on the side of good.” 

“You have no right!” he roared. They all took a step back, now visibly afraid. Good. Crowley was done playing games. 

He let the hellfire simmer up in his throat. Maybe he’d start by lighting Michael on fire, just to let them know he was serious. Let’s see how easily they answered questions when they realized his power. 

Gabriel was talking again. Crowley didn’t bother to listen. He just needed the hellfire to be a bit stronger and then he’d let it loose. 

Just a bit more. 

Uriel took a step forward. 

A bit more.

Sandalphon was grinning his slimy, disgusting grin. 

Almost had it.

A glimmer of light from down below grabbed his attention. It was so faint, he nearly missed it. The fire simmered down and he looked back out the window. Gabriel was still rambling on about something to do with the “Great Plan”. 

Crowley’s eyes were searching for the glimmer again. They darted around the earth until it settled on a spot, not far from London. He would know that essence anywhere.

“Clever angel,” he murmured. Crowley had been so focused on Aziraphale’s scent, he didn’t stop to think of using Aziraphale’s holy essence, his soul, to find him. The archangels must not know about this, otherwise, why wouldn’t they hide it. 

He turned. “I’m not done with you. I am going to find Aziraphale, and when I do, you better pray that he doesn’t want to take revenge because right now, you lot are first on my list to destroy.” 

He didn’t wait for their response. It didn’t matter what arguments Gabriel had or smart comebacks Sandalphon was going to say. Aziraphale was all that mattered, and Crowley was ready to find him.

oOoOoOo

The nature reserve looked like any other, really. It had trees and animals and park staff smiling and handing out brochures. But the feel. The feel of it was so much different than what Crowley had been expecting. 

There was a certain type of… strength in the air. Breathing this in, Crowley felt like he could do anything. It was definitely Aziraphale’s work, and he cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Not even an hour outside of London. Crowley had been all over the world but he didn’t bother to look one hour outside of London. 

“I’ll throw myself a pity party later,” he growled. “Lots of wine to consume and I’ve found Aziraphale.”

He should probably start by asking one of these silly humans if they had a map. The nature reserve was huge, but Crowley had assumed he’d be able to find Aziraphale with his essence once he got to it. However, upon stepping foot in the reserve, he realized that the entire place was soaked with his essence. It was as if the very ground was covered in Aziraphale. It scared Crowley, scared him to guess what had happened to cause such a place, but he didn’t panic. Not yet. Exhaust every possibility and then panic. 

So he went to plan B. If Aziraphale was really making the entire nature reserve using his essence, then he was likely in the center of it. Crowley didn’t much care for hiking, so Aziraphale better thank him when he found him. 

“Oi, park ranger human,” Crowley said, spotting a man dressed up in a uniform and handing out maps. 

THe man looked a bit surprised, but Crowley paid him no mind. He had things to do. 

“How much for one of these map things.” He would have liked to use his phone, but he had had the brilliant idea about thirty years ago to make it nearly impossible to get a cell signal in nature type places unless you had a specific carrier. This increased the frustration in humans as they tried in vain to “my space” and “snap chat” their vacation while also raising the amount of jealousy in the air because other humans had that ability. Crowley now could not access the world wide web because of his brilliant plan and therefore had to rely on good old paper maps which were liable to get soggy with the UK drizzle that was constantly happening. 

“Um, right. Here you go.” The park ranger handed Crowley a map. 

“Good, how do I get to the center of the park? Which of these trails do I take?” There were a lot of squiggly lines with distances printed on the. “The fastest trail. I want to get there the fastest. Why are there no roads?” 

“Because this is a nature reserve?” The poor ranger squeaked out. Yeah, Crowley wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding his demonic aura at the moment. 

The ranger cleared his throat. “Um, this trail, that’s probably the one you want.” He looked at Crowley, really looked at him. From his expensive suit to his snakeskin shoes. “It takes nearly three hours to get there. Are you sure you’re prepared for this?”

“Dorian’s Trail? Should have guessed he’d name it after Oscar Wilde characters. Thanks, have a nice day.” With that, Crowley headed into the wilderness. 

oOoOoOo

When Crowley imagined his whole rescue operation, he imagined it to be much like James Bond saving his current love interest. He’d swoop in, looking suave and cool, say a witty one-liner, and get Aziraphale out of whatever trouble he had gotten himself into. 

What he did not expect was to be trekking through the mud and muck in the rain for five thousand miles up and down hills for several hours (Crowley was not actually walking five thousand miles, but he doesn’t like hiking so any extended period of walking feels like five thousand miles). 

“Couldn’t get yourself locked up in London or another major city with cars, could you?” Crowley muttered. 

“No, you had to go get locked up in a freaking nature reserve. I hope you appreciate everything I do for you.” 

He wasn’t actually angry at Aziraphale. He knew his angel likely didn’t have any choice as to where he was being kept, not if the angels had anything to do with it. 

As he was walking, he couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty around him. This truly was a beautiful garden and had the situation been any different, Crowley would have loved to stop and marvel at some of the plants here. He would have loved to have Aziraphale show him around, point out all the little details he had designed and implemented. Maybe later, but for now he kept moving forward. He was close, closer than he had been all year. 

“Just a little longer, Aziraphale. Hold on a little longer.” 

The further he walked, the more pain and sadness he felt. He was starting to see fewer and fewer humans on the trail. It made sense, they were likely afraid of the celestial power imbedded in the ground. Crowley was afraid as well, but he pushed forward. 

He pushed up hills and slid downhills. He pushed past the chill that was settling in his skin. He pushed past the anxiety and dread. He was going to find Aziraphale in a terrible state, and that was almost enough to make him want to turn and run. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. 

He pushed through trees and grasslands and streams. He kept walking. And walking. And walking. And walking. 

He kept walking until he couldn’t walk anymore. Not because he had lost his strength, no, because there was a large cave in front of him. There was a fence in front of the entrance as well as signs telling visitors to keep out. 

Crowley sent a prayer to Her, not knowing what he wanted or needed. He guessed he wanted Aziraphale to be safe, to be alive. With steady hands, he snapped his fingers and the lock to the gate clicked open. 

With steady legs he went through the gate and into the darkness, descending down, down, down. 

With steady eyes he saw Aziraphale for the first time in years. 

With a steady voice he said, “Oh, angel, what have they done to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale, finally back together!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at the start of this fic: I'm going to write a quick fic, maybe 4 chapters, probably about 10,000 words  
Me now: Dear lord, there's still so much to do. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Crowley had a great imagination. That was one of his defining characteristics. Even so, he was starting to get the feeling that while he had a great imagination, he wasn’t evil enough to fully comprehend the depths angels would go to torture one of their own. 

Aziraphale was in his true from. Crowley had never seen his true form before and thought that, had Aziraphale been in better shape, it would have been beautiful. It was very similar to his own true form, but white instead of black. Four of his wings were wrapped in chains and wrenched upwards, attached to the ceiling of the cave. The chains themselves were meant to bind angels, making it impossible to escape. No wonder Aziraphale had to resort to building an actual, literal garden (Crowley was still angry at himself for missing that) attract Crowley’s attention. 

There was a sticky, golden substance on the ground. _Blood. _ Crowley thought, his body growing cold. He forced himself to look at Aziraphale, to really look so that he could assess the damage that had been done to the angel. Aziraphale hadn’t made a sound since he entered, hadn’t even acknowledge his presence. Thankfully, Crowley could tell he was still alive. He didn’t know what he would do if Aziraphale had died. Probably gone on a rampage until he died, or the entirety of heaven and hell died.

There were bruises and cuts littering his body. The wings that weren’t chained to the ceiling were twisted at unnatural angles. All the wings appeared to be missing some feathers. It made him gag and his suddenly existent heart pound.

He took a deep breath. The first thing he had to do was get Aziraphale out of here. Then he could heal him. Then he could light Heaven on fire. Then, for good measure, he could drown Hell in holy water. Yes, good plan.

He stepped forward. “Angel, it’s me.” He winced at the words. He wasn’t walking into the bookshop for an impromptu lunch.

This did seem to arouse Aziraphale, however. He let out a groan and painfully, slowly, lifted his head.

"Crow-" His words were cut off by a hacking cough.

Crowley rushed forward, ready to comfort and help, but Aziraphale shook his head. "Don't touch me. Not in my true form. Don't want to hurt you m'dear." He was slurring heavily, though he wasn't drunk.

Crowley stopped, his arms hovering over Aziraphale's body. His holiness did burn slightly and would probably burn a lot more if he were to touch him. Still, he had walked through a church for this angel. He would do whatever it took to get him out of here.

"What are these chains? How do I get you out?" Crowley asked, switching his focus.

"Dunno." Aziraphale said, still lying on the floor. "Couldn't get them open."

"Yeah, because they're on you. It wouldn't do anything if you were easily able to escape whatever prison they put you in."

"D'you like the garden?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley bit his lip. He didn't know how coherent Aziraphale was at the moment. He didn't know if he understood what was going on or if he knew that Crowley was really here.

"I love it, angel. When we get out of here and you're completely healed, we should take a walk around." He turned his attention to studying the chains. They were meant to hold an angel. Why would angels want to hold other angels? Again, Crowley was slapped with the realization that he knew nothing about the depravity of Heaven. 

"Miss you calling me angel." Aziraphale said. "Miss you a lot."

"I missed you too, angel." If hearing him say 'angel' made Aziraphale feel better, then Crowley was going to say it every other word (The author will not because that will get very repetitive).

He studied the chains a bit longer, hating every second he wasn't actively trying to get Aziraphale free. Still, he couldn't rush this. If he did, he might hurt Aziraphale even more. That was the last thing Crowley wanted to do. Besides, it seemed like Aziraphale was stable... for now.  
A bit more studying and racking his brain to remember his "how to capture an angel" classes they had to take every hundred years and he finally came to some sort of conclusion as to how to get Aziraphale free. He'd have to find the load-bearing rune, so to speak. Each of the runes were connected to one another, strengthening the entire chain until it became impossible for Aziraphale to break it with his powers. The main purpose of the chain was to keep him from accessing his heavenly powers, including miracles. It was more complex than any of the ones Crowley ever made (for homework purposes. He wasn't about to give Hastur any reason to remove him from Earth.) but the theory was still the same. Besides, breaking the chain was always easier than making it. 

There was just one other problem. 

"Angel?"

"Hm?" 

"Are you able to get into another corporation?" He asked. He didn't want to think about trying to sneak Aziraphale through a popular nature reserve looking like a Lovecraftian monster. 

"Dunno. Never had to get another corporation. Cept for the one Adam gave me." 

Crowley bit his lip. There was no way he'd have the powers of the anti-christ to give Aziraphale a new form. But they needed to get out of here, now. Since he had visited heaven, they'd likely be planning on moving Aziraphale so as to keep him from escaping. If Crowley left now, he might never find Aziraphale. How much blood had soaked into the earth before the reserve was seen from Heaven?

He ran a hand down his face and took a deep breath. 

"Okay, Aziraphale, I've got a plan, but I'm not sure it's going to work."

"You're never sure your plans are going to work." Aziraphale said, his voice drifting as if he were falling asleep. "Should believe in yourself more. I believe in you." 

"Thank you, angel." Crowley went to touch him, but drew his hand back. He couldn't risk burning. Not yet. Not now. 

"I'm going to break the chains and as soon as I do, I'm going to pull you into some sort of astral plane inside me. You remember where I put Adam before he faced his father?" 

"Saw your wings. Like a raven's. I like ravens. Clever birds. Like you." 

He was losing Aziraphale, and fast. It was anyone's guess if Aziraphale even understood what he had just said. 

"I know, angel." 

Putting Aziraphale in the astral plane inside him like this might cause Crowley a ton of damage. Aziraphale was leaking holiness all over the place, more potent than holy water. But even if Crowley died, it would still get Aziraphale out of here so he could heal. 

He found the load-bearing rune. He took a deep breath. 

"I love you." 

He broke the rune. 

oOoOoOo

Aziraphale opened his eyes. He was not where he had been last. He had been in a damp and slightly smelly cave last he remembered. Instead, he seemed to be in a vast and empty desert. It was not hot and there was no wind blowing sand in his face, so that was nice. Also, he was back in his corporation. Strange. 

He looked down at his arms. They shimmered slightly in the light and had a strange transparent look to them. So, he wasn't in his corporation. Stranger. 

He looked around. There was no one here. Was this another trick from Heaven? Perhaps they found new ways to torture him. Of course, he couldn't see how this would be much worse than the ways they were currently torturing him. Maybe this was his mind's way of dealing with the trauma. He had read about humans who, oh, what was the word? Dissociate? Yes, that sounded correct, dissociated with their situation. It was never really explained what was happening in their minds when they dissociated, so it was reasonable to assume that he was dissociating now. 

"All these years of putting up with Gabriel and I finally break," Aziraphale muttered. He knew, logically, that he was a strong person for even dealing with this for so long, but he couldn't help but feel weak. He should have fought harder, tried harder to escape Heaven, to tell Crowley what was going on. Maybe Crowley could have helped him. 

He shook his head, as if to shake the thoughts from his mind. "No, no, that won't do. You are not going to throw yourself a pity party now. You are going to use this time to plan your escape." 

He had tried breaking the chains, but no luck. He had tried getting Crowley's attention, but no luck. Why was that? Crowley should have come running. Aziraphale knew they parted on bad terms, but it wasn't like Crowley to abandon him. He always came for him. 

Speaking of Crowley, now that Aziraphale looked around, the desert looked remarkably like the one Crowley had put them in when they needed to talk to Adam. 

"I suppose that's not saying much," he sighed. "Most deserts, especially this type, look the exact same." Still, there was something nagging in the back of his mind. Something that called to him, that wanted his attention. 

Aziraphale had never lost faith in Crowley, and because he never lost faith in Crowley, he never lost faith in the Almighty. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how, but he knew that this was the safest place for him at the moment. He knew that he needed help, that he couldn't get himself out of this situation, so he had to trust in Crowley. 

He took a deep breath. The desert was warm and comforting. He decided, for some reason he couldn't fathom, to tone down his holiness. There was something about this place, he couldn't let it leak out all willy-nilly. So he sat down, and he pulled in his divinity as much as he could, and he waited. 

oOoOoOo

Crowley had expect absorbing Aziraphale’s essence and being into his own to burn a bit, really, just a slight sting. When they had switched bodies for the trials (or lack thereof in Aziraphale’s case), they hadn’t actually inhabited the same body. They had switched completely, ensuring that they stayed as far apart in the actual corporation as possible until they were in their own bodies again. Here, now, Crowley had completely absorbed Aziraphale into his own body. And angels and demons really did not mix. 

It burned like a thousand suns falling on him. He felt the weight of the entire universe crushing him, forcing him to his knees as he was slammed with the full force of Aziraphale’s power… and pain. 

He forced himself to take deep breaths, to control himself. Hellfire burst from his mouth, scorching the earth below his hands. 

“No, keep it together. You are fine,” he managed to growl. “You are fine. You are fine. The angel is fine and you are both fine.” If he repeated it enough, it would become a reality. That was how it always worked in the past. 

God, what did these bastards do to Aziraphale? How long had he been in pain like this? 

Then, almost as if nothing had happened, the pain and holiness lifted. Crowley sucked in a deep breath. It still burned. It was still hard to breath and he still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, but it was less. He wasn’t about to explode. 

“Great, now what do I do?” he asked, stumbling to his feet and out of the cave. He didn’t want to stay there much longer and risk running into the angels. He didn’t know if he was in any state to fight them. 

He had to get Aziraphale a body. He had to find some sort of vessel to stuff him in until they got him back to his original form. Madam Tracy was always an option. Then again, it had been six years, was she still alive? How long did humans live for anyways.

A few people gasped and whispered as he stumbled by them. Oh, right, he had left his glasses back in the cave. That and he was also stumbling around like a drunk man. He was sweating (that was an uncomfortable feeling, no wonder humans stayed away from doing sweaty activities), and he was wearing a suit that cost more than most cars. He definitely looked out of place. 

The park ranger was still there. He didn’t say anything, just let his mouth hang open while he stared at Crowley. Didn’t even ask what was wrong, the bastard. 

The Bentley was still where Crowley had parked it (illegally, of course. He couldn’t park the Bentley legally, he was in a hurry (it was actually more work to park it illegally than legally, but Crowley was a literal interpretation of the phrase ‘aesthetic trash’ and could not EVER park a car legally)). It’s doors popped open for him and he fell inside. 

“Angel, tone it down just a little more. I don’t want to discorporate us both on the way home.” Maybe he should just sit down and take a nap. A nice, long thousand year nap. That sounded like the best course of action. 

He slapped himself. “Nope, not gonna do that. Have to get… somewhere.” He put the car in drive and prayed that he’d work enough off of muscle memory to drive back to his flat. Then again, maybe taking a demon with an angel currently inhabiting his body back to a very crowded city was probably not the best course of action. Then again, he didn’t have much of a choice. They weren’t going to solve this problem in Antarctica.

He peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, er, snake out of hell. To be honest, the drive itself was a bit of a blur. Crowley didn’t remember anything. It was almost as if he blinked and he was back at his flat. 

It still didn’t solve the problem. There was still so much wrong with the situation and he could tell Aziraphale was starting to lose control. 

He stumbled into his office, his feet weren’t cooperating with him and more hellfire burst from his mouth, as if an attempt to burn away the holiness that had lodged in his very soul. 

“No, don’t hurt him. Don’t you dare hurt him.” He dragged himself up to his landline. His cell phone had gotten lost somewhere in Bermuda (it wasn’t lost, Crowley threw it off a boat out of frustration since he was unable to get into contact with Aziraphale). 

He didn’t know what number he was dialing. It would be the right number. He was sure of it. He believed in it. In his imagination, he was dialing the correct number without even looking. 

It rang. Then, someone picked up. 

“Hello?” Anathema said. 

“Get Madam Tracy over here now.” He gasped before finally passing out on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Aziraphale ran his fingers through the sand. He still didn’t know what was going on, but that was okay. He was safe here, he knew that deep in his (nonexistent) bones. 

He did piece together that this place had something to do with Crowley. Being hereditary enemies turned friends meant you knew a person by their essence, the sort of residual energy they left in the world. Aziraphale would know this essence anywhere. 

“Crowley, what’s going on?” he asked, laying back on the sand. It was warm and soft. He almost felt cozy, if not a little lonely. 

He could feel in this place, a sense of pain and loss, abandonment and fear. Anxiety and depression. Crowley always did such a good job of putting up such a strong facade. He seemed cool and unflappable, even in the toughest of circumstances. 

After all, he strutted out of a flaming Bentley as if nothing had happened, complemented Aziraphale’s body, and continued on as if nothing in the world mattered. Of course, he did break down when the Bentley finally exploded. Perhaps Aziraphale was a fool to not notice the signs earlier. 

, Of course, Crowley was traumatized from the fall. Of course, he was probably anxious and lonely. Aziraphale hadn’t spent very long in Hell, but he didn’t imagine it was much better, even when Crowley was in their… well, good graces wasn’t the best term but it would have to do. 

He took a deep breath and turned his face to the sand. “My dear, whenever we are together again, we will need to talk. I promise, I’ll tell you everything, but you have to tell me everything as well. I want to help you. I love you.” 

He turned his head back to the sky. “Not like an angel who just loves everything because they are all God’s creatures. I love you as humans love each other, deeply, passionately, and sometimes not at all logically. I pray you love me the same.”

There was a rustle of wind in the sands and Aziraphale knew, almost without thinking, it was time to leave. 

He stood up and took a deep breath. "I pray things will get better soon, my dear," he said to the void. He liked to believe that Crowley knew everything he had confessed and said. He liked to believe that things would, in fact, be better from now on. He liked to believe, so he did believe. After all, what was there to life if you don't believe? 

The wind blew again, and Aziraphale slipped out of this plane of existence and into a new one. 

oOoOoOo

"What's wrong with him?" Newt asked, going to poke the demon who was passed out on the floor and sweating profusely. 

"Don't touch him," Anathema said. "We don't know what's wrong, but he wanted you to come, for some reason." 

Madam Tracy looked a bit pleased with herself. She had given up the ways of the psychic. It was just too much to listen to people drone on and on about their deceased loved ones. However, she did miss the witchier side of things. She was actually just thinking this morning of getting into contact with Anathema and starting up witchcraft again. Nothing too big, just small little spells. Maybe a few crystals. You know, what hip witches were doing these days. She didn't expect to receive a frantic call from the young lady explaining how the demon from the apocalypse called her out of the blue and then, she assumed, passed out. 

"There's something odd about his aura," Anathema continued. "It's almost as if something is in him that isn't supposed to be in him." 

"Well, why don't we wake him up and ask him what he wanted us to do," Newt said. 

Anathema rolled her eyes. "And how do we do that?" 

"Coldwater, splashed on his face? Oh, that's stupid, I know. But we can't just sit here and do nothing. He could be dying." 

"He is dying," Anathema said. "I can't figure out why though. And why did he need you to be here?" 

Madam Tracy was not a spring chicken. She was an old dog who had seen all of the tricks. She was clever too. "Well, I think he needs someone to possess me," she said quite simply. 

Anathema made a face. 

"You have a Ph.D., my dear. Surely you're able to use that brain of yours for critical thinking. The last time we had contact with this particular demon, I was possessed by an angel. It stands to reason that he wanted me here because he figured I would be willing to be possessed again." 

"That... makes sense?" Newt said. "Or, about as much sense as any of this makes. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that all of this exists, and we survived the apocalypse."

"So, how do you let whatever's inside of him possess you?" Anathema asked. 

"Last time, I was holding a seance when it happened. So let's hold a seance again. I'm assuming this man has candles somewhere around here." 

Anathema and Newt stared at her. 

"Well go on, get the materials," she shooed them out the door. "I have to get into the right mind space for this. And think of someone you wish to contact. I wouldn't suggest anyone important as you probably won't get to speak to them, but it helps to have something to focus on."

Anathema and Newt weren't gone for long, coming back in with candles and some crystals. It wasn't Madame Tracy's usual set up, but it would have to do. 

"Alright," she said as she finished lighting the last candle on the desk. Mr. Crowley was still lying on the ground in a heap next to her feet. If she didn't know any better, she'd think he was drunk. Oh well, hopefully, this worked. If not, she didn't know what else they could do. 

"Everyone join hands." She commanded. 

"This is ridiculous," Anathema hissed. 

Madame Tracy did a very good job of not rolling her eyes. For a witch, Anathema lacked a good deal of imagination. She decided to focus on her shopping list. Two minutes should be enough to make Anathema and Newt think she was possessed. Who should her spirit guide be this time? The little Irish girl she usually used might be good enough. Then again, she wanted something with a bit more panache. A bit more oomph. Maybe she should pick the Oracle of Delphi. She didn't know the actual name of the oracle, but then again, names didn't really matter. 

She made a few showy, grunting noises before calling out in her "psychic" voice. "Are you there my spirit guide?" 

She opened her eyes and did her best to look dreamy and unfocused. The Oracle of Delphi would have a mature, but still somewhat absent voice. No need to go so high in pitch this time. 

"It is I, the Oracle of Delphi," she said. 

"Seriously?" Anathema said. "This isn't going to work." 

"Let's just see what's going to happen," Newt said. 

"I'm worried that if we let this go on too long, he'll explode or something." 

"Do you have someone you'd like to talk to?" Madame Tracy growled. Normally, her clients were much more willing to put up with the cheesy theatrics. It was one of the reasons they paid so much. Anathema and Newt should be grateful. They were getting the show for free. And there was a real demon at their feet. 

"Um, yes, I was wondering if I could talk to my gran?" Newt said. 

Oh, good lord, another grandparent. Those were always the worst because you never could tell how a grandparent was to a child. They could be the stereotypical type, who baked cookies and knitted. Or they could be distant. Or they could be into BDSM and wrestling. It always was a toss-up.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting something. Something very faint. Oracle, guide me to Newt's grandmother!" 

Then, it happened, much like it did the last time. Something was entering her body. She recognized it. It was hard not to when they shared a body for so long and at such a stressful time too. Though, Mr. Aziraphale did take an awful lot of that time to stare at Mr. Crowley's backside. It wasn't a terrible arse, but it certainly wasn't Madame Tracy's type.

"What's happening?" Anathema asked.

"It's happening. I'm being possessed!" she managed to cry out before Mr. Aziraphale fully entered her. 

It was much much different this time. For one, he didn't immediately start chattering as soon as he entered Madame Tracy's head. She waited a few moments for him to say something. Anything. There was silence. 

"Well?" Anathema asked, leaning forward, clearly interested in what would happen next. 

Madame Tracy pursed her lips and concentrated really hard. Aziraphale still said nothing, but she could sense something was wrong. 

"I think he's injured," she said, opening her eyes to look at Anathema and Newt. "He's not saying anything and the life force is very weak." 

"Then, why was he in?" Newt pointed at the demon who was still passed out on the floor of the room. 

"I don't know. Hopefully, now that Mr. Aziraphale is out of Mr. Crowley, we can get some answers." 

Almost as if Mr. Crowley had heard the words himself, he opened his eyes and gasped for breath. 

"Can you tell me what the--" Anathema didn't get to finish her question as Mr. Crowley leaped up and shoved her out of the way of the door, sprinting through the apartment. Anathema was on his heels, followed by a very timid Newt. Madame Tracy sighed and adjusted her sweater. And here she was thinking she'd have a nice, simple, quiet retirement. She followed the group out the door.

Mr. Crowley had made his way to the roof of the building. What was extremely terrifying was the fire that was burning out of his body. It seemed his whole face had fire pouring out of it as did both of his hands and possibly even his feet. 

Anathema and Newt were huddled behind an air conditioning unit. 

"Should we put him out?" Newt asked. "Like with a fire extinguisher or something?" 

"Do you know where the nearest fire extinguisher is?" Anathema asked.

The flames were roaring and scarring the clouds with light. It was terrifying, and Madame Tracy thought she could hear Mr. Crowley screaming under those flames. Surely he couldn't be hurt by them? 

Then, the flames stopped and Mr. Crowley fell to his knees. His suit now fully in tatters and smudged ash on his exposed skin. He was breathing heavily. He looked much worse than before. 

"Where's the angel?" he asked, getting to his feet and limping over to them. 

Newt and Anathema pointed at Madame Tracy. Kids these days, not even going to attempt to protect her. 

"Mr. Aziraphale is currently inhabiting my body, yes," she said in an even voice. She had dealt with the worst of the worst in her time on Earth. One demon was hardly anything to sniff at. 

Mr. Crowley came to a stop in front of her, hunched over and gripping the air conditioning unit as if it were the only thing keeping him up. "Is he alright? Still alive?" 

Madame Tracy smiled and took his arm, leading him back to the stairs. "He's still alive, though he hasn't said anything yet." 

Mr. Crowley let out a sigh of relief and a little laugh. "Thank someone." 

They led him down the stairs and into what was probably supposed to be a living room. It only had one (rather uncomfortable looking) couch in the middle of an otherwise stark room with only a large TV on the wall in front. 

"Wow," Newt said as he lowered the demon onto the couch. "Looks... modern?" 

"What is going on?" Anathema demanded. "You call me out of the blue-- How did you even get my number? And demand that I bring Madame Tracy to you. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find your location? The lay lines were not cooperating!" 

Mr. Crowley glared at her. "Alright, alright, book girl."

"I have a name."

"Look, I'll tell you everything, just, give me a minute. Demons aren't supposed to be possessed by angels and it's a miracle, demonic or otherwise, that London isn't currently a radioactive crater."  
He took a few more deep breaths, still looking awful but less shaky and twitchy. Finally, he opened his eyes and told them what had happened. Madame Tracy suspected that he was leaving out some things. Mr. Aziraphale was awfully hurt and scared in her mind, but she didn't call him out. He seemed to be scared enough for both of them. 

Finally, he finished and Madame Tracy came up with a plan. She didn't expect Mr. Crowley too, not in the state he was in. And Anathema and Newt were much too young to be the leaders. So it was up to her. She didn't mind. She rather liked Mr. Aziraphale. They had kept in close contact after the apocalypse and she had been very worried when his calls and visits had stopped. 

"Right then," she stood up and started digging through Mr. Crowley's closet, looking for something more suitable than what he was currently wearing. "We'll head off to Tadfield, and have some tea while we wait for Adam to get off from school." 

"Can he do anything?" Mr. Crowley asked, accepting the shirt and jacket Madame Tracy handed to him. "I thought he was mostly human now." 

"We don't have much of a choice. Not unless there's another way to get a body?" Madame Tracy said. 

"No. I mean, I could go to Heaven and grab one, but I don't want to face them, not yet. We need to get Aziraphale healed first." 

She sighed. "Mr. Crowley, you know these wounds aren't just physical. These things take time." 

Mr. Crowley bit his lip and nodded. "Yep. I know. But it helps if he's got a body to heal in the first place." 

They all piled into Newt's car and headed off to Tadfield. Mr. Crowley had wanted to take his own car, but he seemed to be in no state to drive and Madame Tracy was worried he might pass out. He seemed to have been through a lot these past few years. She felt Aziraphale inside her, soft and warm, but timid. He still hadn't come out yet to talk and she was worried about his mental state. She just hoped that getting him a new body would help with whatever trauma he had endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of hoping for two, maybe three more chapters. Aziraphale and Crowley cuddles are almost here, everyone!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will respond to everyone's comments sometime in January, I promise! I really meant to have this up before Christmas but I literally have not had access to the internet for the past few days. Still, nice little Christmas treat for you all. Hope everyone is enjoying the holiday's/Pagan Winter Solstice.

Crowley and Adam were staring at each other. Adam sipped his tea. He looked to Madame Tracy. 

"So you're two people again?" 

Madame Tracy nodded. "Yes. Poor thing still hasn't woken up. But he is feeling much better." 

"I can try to give him another body," Adam said, putting his teacup down. "But I'm not sure if I'll be able to. That's a lot of work, even for me. Spinning bodies out of nowhere. I don't have all the powers in the world." 

Crowley forced down a growl. He knew Aziraphale was safer now than he had been in the past few years, but he still wanted things to be moving faster than they were. He didn't want to sit in Madame Tracy's small cottage and sip tea and nibble on biscuits while making awkward small talk with Anathema and Newt (though he did like the idea of getting a cottage for him and Aziraphale. Not in Tadfield, of course, but somewhere nice and quiet with enough room for a garden and a library.). He didn't want to have to explain everything again and again and again. He just wanted Aziraphale back in his old body and fully healed. He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. 

He knew how impossible that was, though. Aziraphale was too injured, physically and mentally, and Crowley had had too much time to think. He wanted Aziraphale back, but he wanted them to move forward. 

"If he's injured," Newt said, "should we wait a bit? If he's suddenly pushed into a new body, wouldn't he go into shock?" 

Madame Tracy paused and tilted her head, almost as if she was having a conversation with Aziraphale. Crowley desperately wanted to know what he was saying. He wanted to know that Aziraphale didn't hate him and didn't blame him, even if Crowley deserved every harsh word ever created and more. He wanted to know that Aziraphale was safe and that he knew he was safe. He wanted to know that things were okay. 

Madame Tracy turned back to them. "I don't think so. He's pretty tough and being back in his own body would be the best thing for him." 

"Then let's get on with it," Crowley growled, barely able to contain the fear and anxiety that had been hounding him since the moment he realized Aziraphale's bookshop had been sold. That was something else he wasn't looking forward to telling the angel. Had the angels been the ones to sell the books? Yet another reason why Crowley needed to get back up to Heaven and burn the entire place to the ground. 

Adam nodded and put his teacup down. "Yeah, I probably should get started now. I have a history test tomorrow that I want to study for. I always do fine, but it makes my mum and dad feel better if they see me studying." 

All the power of the universe and Adam Young was using it to get decent grades in school. Crowley would never understand this kid. 

He screwed his face into a look of pained concentration. Everyone held their breath. It would likely be harder than the last time since last time he had all of his powers, made stronger by the upcoming apocalypse. Crowley waited. He stared. He waited some more. He was about to call the whole thing off. There was a rush of power into the room, something that Crowley recognized as Holy, but it was more than any angel could possess. It mixed with the demonic powers of Adam in a way that Crowley would never understand no matter how hard he thought about it. 

Adam gasped. 

Madam Tracy let out a giggle. "Oh, it's just as tingly as the last time." 

And just like that, as if nothing had happened, Aziraphale was in his arms. He was unconscious but alive, Crowley could tell. He didn't do anything at first, just stared down at the angel. He wouldn't cry. He refused to cry in front of all of these humans. 

He had to get out of here before he had a full-on breakdown. 

"Right, then, thank you for your help," he said, maneuvering Aziraphale so that one arm was slung over his shoulder. "I'll be getting back to London then." 

"Oh, Mr. Crowley," Newt said, putting down his teacup. "You can't, at least, not yet. I drove you here, remember?" 

Shit, yeah, that was right. Damn Madame Tracy for forcing him to ride in the back of that infernal car as if he were incapable of driving the Bentley. Newt drove as fast as the speed limit said the whole way. The whole way! What kind of self-respecting car owner goes the speed limit.

"Fine, then, drive me back." 

Anathema snorted and Newt looked sheepish. 

"Sorry, but Dick Turpine can only really make one trip a day. It'll have to be tomorrow." 

Crowley was very close to demon-smiting them all. He wanted to go to his flat, cry, and hug Aziraphale. He couldn't do that if the car wasn't working. He tried to snap the stupid car into working order, but his hands were weak and he couldn't even muster up the strength to fix a tail light. Plus, Aziraphale was starting to get heavy. Or maybe Crowley's arms were starting to get weak. 

"Come on, Love," Madame Tracy took his arm and was leading him out of the room. "I've got a spare room upstairs for you." 

Crowley let himself be led away and up the stairs. Each step was taking more and more effort. The relief he felt having Aziraphale back in his arms was almost overwhelming. He hated himself for taking so long. He hated himself for starting the argument in the first place. He hated himself for not being able to save the bookshop a second time, even though both times were largely out of his control. He hated himself for not being able to get Azriaphale a new body and having to rely on the antichrist (former) again. 

"There you are, love." Madame Tracy led him to a cozy little bedroom with one bed in it. "Get some rest and tomorrow you can go back home. I'm sure Mr. Aziraphale would like that." 

Crowley nodded, numb by the events that had taken place. He had been to every country on the planet, thousands of bakeries and libraries. He had hiked through a forest, let an angel possess him, and still somehow kept his body together long enough to get the angel in someone else. He was exhausted and the threat of Heaven coming for them was hanging over his head, but he couldn't do it anymore. 

Once he got Aziraphale situated on the bed, he passed out. 

oOoOoOo

Aziraphale had never gotten the point of sleep. He understood why humans and animals needed to do it, but he was ethereal. He had no need for sleep so why would he indulge? There were so many interesting things to experience on Earth; so many books to read and foods to try. Why would someone who didn't need sleep ever partake in it? It puzzled him to no end why Crowley could sleep for decades. He was perfectly happy staying awake with a nice cup of cocoa and a good book, thank you very much. 

Which is why he was confused when he woke up. He didn't remember going to sleep. He didn't remember needing sleep. And yet, here he was, his eyes closed and his mind slowly coming to. He blinked his eyes opened and was staring at the ceiling of a room that was definitely not his own. For one, he never put a mirror on the ceiling. Also, there was a horrid shade of pink painted on the walls. Not even Crowley's flat, with its odd trimmings, had any room like this. 

He shifted, fully intent on getting up and finding out what in the name of Heaven was going on, but the plan was quickly abandoned when fire coursed through his body. It felt as though all his bones had been broken and his skin had been flayed. His wings, though they were not in this plane of existence, flapped to try and get him away from the pain, but it only served to make things worse as all of them were broken and twisted in some way. 

His memories of the past years hit him like a freight train. Getting ambushed by the angels. Being trapped in that cave. Oh, the pain! The pain!

"Crowley!" He cried, tears slipping down his cheeks. Was he still there? What was going on? Was this another tricky by Heaven? Why couldn't they leave him alone? What was so bad about his existence that they felt the need to punish him so severely? What did he do wrong?

"Angel, angel!" Crowley's voice was desperate and hands were on either side of his face, stroking his cheeks and hair. "Angel, it's okay. I'm here, you're safe." 

Being an angel, Aziraphale didn't need to breathe, but it still felt like he was being crushed by rocks, air not willing to enter his lungs. Or lungs not willing to accept the air. 

Crowley sat him up, continuing to speak softly to him. What he was saying, Aziraphale couldn't hear over the roar of panic in his ears. 

"Breathe, angel. Breathe. It's okay. I'm right here. In and out." He made a show of breathing in and Aziraphale followed the demonstration instinctively. Then Crowley breathed out and Aziraphale copied. They did this a few more times before the tunneling vision had started to fade and his heartbeat had calmed down. 

Exhausted, Aziraphale collapsed back on the bed. "Crowley, you have to get out of here. They'll find you." 

Crowley was hushing him, comforting him again. "Angel, it's okay, you're safe now. I got you out of that cave." He spat the word as if it were the vilest thing in the universe. It probably was, given just how much pain and suffering had gone on in there. 

"Crowley, you don't understand. They'll hunt me down and they'll keep hunting me until I’m finally destroyed." Aziraphale didn't want to admit it, but escaping from the cave wasn't likely to bring any long term results. 

Crowley's face twisted. The emotion was hard to pinpoint, it was like he was oscillating between fear, rage, and pity. Aziraphale hated it. 

"We'll worry about that later. Right now, you need to get better. Then, we'll figure out what to do." 

Aziraphale pushed off of him, shaking his head. "You don't understand, Crowley. It's partially my fault for never telling you the whole story, but... oh, Heaven is horrible. They do horrible things to you when you aren't perfect or when you don't conform." 

"Yeah, I know." Crowley said, his eyes darkening. He looked ready to kill someone, and that was terrifying. Crowley hated killing. He hated violence. He hated death. 

"It wasn't just the fall. Things happened afterwards too." Aziraphale said. How could he get Crowley to understand him? How could he get him to leave so he would be safe?

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hands and squeezed them. "I know, angel. You think I didn't figure it out when I found you chained up like a dog?"

Aziraphale found himself squeezing Crowley's hands as tightly as he could. They felt like the only things keeping him on this Earth, keeping from tumbling into the depths of his anxiety. 

"Why didn't you tell me they were hurting you? Did you not trust me?"  
Something in his voice broke and Aziraphale started crying again. He hated crying. It was weak and pathetic. 

"I do trust you. But I don't trust them. I couldn't let them hurt you and the more you knew, the more danger you were in." 

Crowley was pulling him into a hug. That was good, at least, Aziraphale was slightly worried that they'd have another argument and he wouldn't see Crowley for another... how long had he been in the cave? 

"Angel," Crowley said, nose buried in his hair. "Angel, angel, angel, my stupid, clever angel. That's not how this works. I am not in any more or less danger because I know what they did to you." 

Aziraphale didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it. After all, if what Crowley said was true, then he had suffered in silence for no reason for all these years. 

"We'll figure out a way to keep you safe. I promise. I won't let them get to you again." 

Perhaps it was because Aziraphale was not fully healed. Perhaps it was because he was overwhelmed by the love Crowley had for him. Perhaps it was a lot of things happening at once, but Aziraphale closed his eyes and slept some more. 

oOoOoOo

Crowley looked down at the sleeping angel in his arms. He could hardly believe they were here. All of those years searching for him and he finally found him and had him. There were still lots of things that worried Crowley, though. For one, even though the body looked okay, Crowley knew that underneath was bruises and cuts and broken wings. They needed to be taken care of if they were ever going to heal properly. The next time Aziraphale awoke, he would have to actually deal with the injuries, and that meant letting Crowley see and interact with his true form. 

What worried Crowley more was the implication that this was not the first time the angels had done something like this. It made Crowley sick. How many decades had they gone without seeing each other? How much time did the archangels have to torture him? He felt fire-raising up in his throat once more. It didn't feel like hellfire. Perhaps there was a righteousness in his rage, but the fire was different than what he normally produced. 

The angels would be back. He had told Aziraphale that he was safe and that Crowley would protect him. But it was only a matter of time before Gabriel and the others caught up with them. How much more could Aziraphale take? Crowley didn't want to find out. 

So he made a decision. It was probably a stupid decision, really, but it was a decision. He wrote Aziraphale a quick note and snapped it away. It would only appear if Crowley died. He had to make sure the angel knew he hadn't abandoned him. He then went downstairs. 

"Everything alright, love?" Madame Tracy asked. 

Crowley nodded. "He woke up for a bit but fell back asleep. I need to go out for a bit so watch over him." 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Anathema asked. "He's probably scared right now." 

Crowley hesitated, but decided what he had to do, he had to do now. The longer he waited, the more likely they were to find him. He needed to catch him off guard, to have the upper hand. 

He shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll be quick. This really needs to get done now." 

Anathema didn't look convinced but didn't argue either. For that, Crowley was grateful. He would come back to Aziraphale. He would deal with his trauma and help Aziraphale heal. He would call that one shrink he researched awhile ago and actually start to get some therapy. Then he and Aziraphale would live happily ever after and no angels would bother them again. 

"Newt, drive me to the city," he said. 

"Yes, sure. Dick Turpine should be stable enough to drive now."

Crowley shuddered but decided not to say anything. There were bigger things to deal with than Newt’s horrid choice of vehicle. "And actually go over the speed limit. No one is going to care if you do ten miles over the speed limit."

"Dick Turpine can't really go fast." 

Crowley groaned. "Useless, all of you. Should have let me take the Bentley. I'll drive it back so you can just come back after you've dropped me off." If he was still alive, that is. He decided not to share that particular tidbit with the group. They wouldn’t let him go if they knew how dangerous this trip was. 

They went off. Crowley could feel his true form start to peak out from the pores in his skin. It was probably a stupid idea. But hey, all of his ideas were stupid on some level. He just had to believe they would work and then they would. At least, that’s how it always worked in the past. 

"Um, Mr. Crowley," Newt said. 

Crowley took a deep breath and forced his rage down. "What is it?" 

"You're not planning on doing anything stupid? Are you?" 

"No why would you ever get that idea?" Crowley asked. 

"Because you look like you're about to do something stupid." Newt said. 

Crowley looked down at his hands and took another deep breath. He was being pretty stupid, going up against heaven like this. But what other choice did he have? Heaven would just keep coming after Aziraphale as long as he lived and there was nothing that Crowley could do to stop it. He had to deal with this problem, now. The fact that he hadn't been smote yet by the almighty, even though she probably knew what he was headed to do, suggested that maybe she was not all opposed to this ludicrous idea that he had. 

"I have to do this. You wouldn't understand, but I have to do this." 

"Oh, okay," Newt said, not sounding entirely convinced. 

There was a rage in Crowley that he had never felt before. It gave him some hope. After all, even if the archangels knew he was coming, they likely did not expect the force they were going to have to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the more heartbreaking things about getting out of an abusive relationship is realizing that you didn't have to suffer through it.


	9. Chapter 9

When they got to London, Crowley gave him directions to the office building that housed the entrance to Heaven and Hell. 

“Really?” Newt asked, looking up at the sky scrapper. “You want to be left here?” 

Crowley got out of the car. Only a few more hours and he’d be able to drive his Bentley back. “Yep. Don’t question it. Just go back home and make sure Aziraphale is alright.”

Newt looked as though he wanted to argue, but he nodded and drove off instead. Crowley was grateful. He really didn’t need anyone trying to talk him out of this. 

Aziraphale was going to be beside himself when he realized what Crowley had done, but it was necessary. He had to do it. He had too. Besides, he wasn't going to destroy all of Heaven. Someone needed to keep Hell in check after all. There were just a select few angels he needed to talk to about their treatment of one of their own. 

He stepped onto the escalator and started to ascend. As he ascended, layers of his being were shed. His human form was still alive, it was just locked deep down inside him. They wanted Aziraphale to be in his true form so badly, then they would have to deal with Crowley in his true form. His wings started to unfold themselves, his Eyes starting to blink open, and he was calmed by what he saw. He could always see like this, but it could give him headaches if he looked through his Eyes for too long. Something about seeing the world from the perspective of a holy being and whatnot. 

He grew taller and taller. He felt his halos, still somehow intact even after his fall, start to circle around him, words older than language itself etched on them. The fire that had been barely contained within him had erupted out, scorching the halls and the floors and the ceilings. Good. Let them remember every time they come up with what they did. He was a demon, after all. And a demon's main job, after spreading ferment, was to punish those that fell to the temptation. Those who did not forsake evil and sin and instead chose the path that brought pain to others. Crowley never forced anyone to commit sins. He always left if up to the people to decide, and it looked like archangels were no better than humans. Even if they thought they were. 

The receptionist said nothing, their mouth falling open as Crowley walked by. The first time he had been up here, they had tried to stop him, tried to tell him that he couldn't go into Heaven, but he ignored him. Now, it seemed that they were as shocked as the demons at his true form. Crowley didn't understand why. He was a powerful angel before he Fell. 

He helped create the stars, but he wasn't much for violence. It was one of the reasons why he Fell. Heaven was turning too warlike for his tastes and he had thought that maybe Lucifer understood what he wanted out of life. Turns out, he didn't either. Crowley didn't know why he still more or less had access to his true form. Perhaps he had never really fallen. Perhaps God wanted to teach some archangels a lesson. He would question it later, but now it was time to bring down his wrath on everyone who had ever hurt Aziraphale. He knew who they were, he could see it in their souls, read it like words on a page.  
Most of the angels were innocent, over half probably never suspected a thing. They were indifferent to Aziraphale, but they had never hurt him. Crowley left these ones alone, cowering in the hallways as he went to his true targets. 

Distantly, he was aware that alarms were blaring and people were shouting. Distantly, he was aware that everywhere he went, everywhere he stepped, fire sprang forth. It wasn't hellfire, though. It was holy, or at least, holier than what would be expected of a demon. Maybe he really had risen to some half-stage between demon and angel. Or maybe God was pissed off. 

The doors to the Archangel's office flew open and once more they were standing, trying not to be intimidated by him. 

"Crowley," Gabriel said in a voice that one would use on a child who ate all the cookies before dinner. "You are making a mess. Aziraphale is our jurisdiction and--"

Crowley let out a growl. It was possibly the most animalistic thing he had ever done, and he had been a snake once. "YOU THINK I CARE ABOUT YOUR JURISDICTION?" he asked. He could see all three archangels, plus Sandalphon pale. 

Crowley wanted to deal with Sandalphon first. He was the one who had done the most damage to Aziraphale. He was the one who had taken the most pleasure out of it. He reached his hand out and all the angels pulled out flaming swords. 

Normally, a flaming sword would cause Crowley to pause. It wasn't quite as deadly as holy water, but given these angels and their lust for war, he might be dead, not discorporated, in a matter of moments. However, in light of recent events, Crowley was starting to like his odds. 

All four charged at him. Crowley batted them away like flies, flinging them across the room with no effort. 

“You can’t do this,” Michael said, trying to drag themselves up to charge again. Their true form erupted, ripping the human form that had contained it to shreds. 

Crowely did not have time to deal with this. He did not want to deal with this. The other angels followed and transformed into their true forms. 

Aziraphale’s true form, despite its broken and battered appearance, had been lovely. Crowley could picture how beautiful it would be once Aziraphale was fully healed. It radiated a soft light that comforted you and reminded you of sunny spring days. It was warm without being hot. It enveloped you like a mother’s hug and made you remember the beauty and light in this world. These forms, however, were nothing short of grotesque. Crowley understood why angels had to preface any message with ‘Be Not Afraid, for I am an angel of the Lord.’

Now, Crowley was a good fighter, but he was also smart. He knew that four against one with their true forms would result in him being killed permanently. Even if they were surprised, even if they quaked slightly upon seeing his true form fill a space it should not be able to occupy. So he used his smarts, something Heaven seemed to be lacking. He dug deep inside himself and let out a roar, releasing his anger, his hatred, his loathing, his malice and letting the fires within burst from him and encompass the room. 

The angels shrieked, but they did not burn. No, death by hellfire would be too merciful, even if it was poetic justice. Crowley let the hellfire burn as long as it wanted, he made no move to contain it like he normally would. It burned him too. More evidence to support his theory that he wasn’t as demonic as he first thought. Finally, the fires burned down and he was pleased to see all four angels were surrounded by a ring of hellfire with no way to escape. 

“Impossible,” Gabriel snarled. “You shouldn’t be able to burn hellfire here. It’s unholy!”

Crowley grinned, his fangs bared for all to see. “DO YOU NOT REMEMBER WHAT YOU USED THIS ROOM FOR?” He recognized it. Even with Heaven’s sparse decorations and uniformity, he would recognize this room anywhere.

“The execution,” Uriel breathed. 

“PERHAPS YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE HOLED UP IN A SPACE USED FOR SUCH AN UNHOLY PURPOSE. HAD YOU BEEN ANYWHERE ELSE, I LIKELY WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN SO POWERFUL. BUT YOU HAVE USED HEAVEN FOR YOUR OWN MEANS, FOR YOUR OWN GOALS AND THAT IS THE GREATEST SIN OF ALL. YOU SHALL NOT MISUSE THE NAME OF THE LORD, YOUR GOD.” 

All of them paled at the realization. Crowley paced to the window and looked out. He could see Madame Tracy’s house and the faint glow of holiness that burned within it. Good, Aziraphale was still alright.

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT A DEMON’S MAIN JOB IS?” 

They were quiet. They were doing a good job at putting up a brave facade, but Crowley could feel the uncertainty, the fear beneath it. He never much understood the pleasure some demons took in fear, but he was starting to get it. He loved making these bastards quake. 

“IT IS NOT, AS MANY IN HEAVEN WOULD BELIEVE, TO SPREAD FERMENT.” He turned to them, absolutely loving how this was going. They were really going to hate this next part. “THE DUTY OF THE FALLEN IS TO PUNISH THOSE WHO STRAY FROM GOD’S LIGHT. WE HAVE THIS WHOLE SYSTEM WHERE THE PUNISHMENT FITS THE CRIME.”

“You can’t punish us, we’re angels,” Gabriel said. “That only works on humans.” 

Crowley laughed. “YOU REALLY THINK YOU’RE THAT MUCH BETTER THAN THEM. YOU’RE NOT. TRUST ME, I KNOW. I’VE BEEN WITH THEM FOR THE PAST 6000 YEARS, LIKE AZIRAPHALE.” 

He took a deep breath and gathered his powers. “DON’T WORRY. I’M NOT GOING TO KILL YOU. I’M EVEN GOING TO BE KIND AND MAKE SURE IT DOESN’T LAST FOREVER.” 

“Just tell us what you’re going to do.” Gabriel growled. “And when I get out of here I swear I’m going to finish you and Aziraphale off, just like I should have done from the Beginning.” 

Crowley shook his head. What had Aziraphale ever done to deserve such hate? He got what he had done, but Aziraphale was much too kind to deserve any of this. 

“IT’S GOING TO BE COMPLETELY FAIR. EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER HURT AZIRAPHALE WILL EXPERIENCE THE SAME PAIN AND INJURIES THAT HE HAS EXPERIENCED ALONG THE SAME TIMELINE.” 

“What?” Uriel gasped, paling even further. Their true form shrank. 

Crowley chuckled. “I HOPE YOU DIDN’T HURT HIM TOO BADLY TOO OFTEN. OTHERWISE, THIS IS GOING TO BE A VERY UNCOMFORTABLE 6000 YEARS FOR YOU.” 

He raised his hands and snapped his fingers, more hellfire spreading out and encircling the angels, an ancient language being whispered as the punishment was enacted. A few flames escaped into the halls and Crowley heard screams as other angels were being punished as well. 

Gabriel let out a scream as he fell to the ground, clutching his right leg in pain. The first injury Aziraphale ever received from him. 

“YOU’D BETTER HOPE YOUR FELLOW ANGELS ARE KINDER THAN YOU ARE. I’VE SEEN THE STATE OF AZIRAPHALE’S TRUE FORM. I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO HIM.” 

“You won’t get away with this,” Michael snarled. 

Crowley turned to leave the room. “I WOULDN’T COUNT ON THAT. GOD SEEMS TO APPROVE OF EVERYTHING I’VE DONE SO FAR. I WOULD BE MORE WORRIED ABOUT WHAT SHE THINKS ABOUT YOU.” 

There were more screams of pain coming from the room. It was honestly probably too light of a punishment, but what was done was done and for the next 6000 years (plus the years after Armageddon) the angels who had hurt Aziraphale would be punished. Hopefully, this meant they would be left alone from now on. 

There were just a few more things to take care of. Things that Crowley was not looking forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's sick? That's right. I decided to stay home from work today to get some rest, got bored, and worked on this instead. So, enjoy Crowley being BAMF and kicking ass. Next chapter, he and Aziraphale finally talk about their feeling. Gasp! Open communication! What is the world coming to?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that love won't cure your mental illness and it won't cure your trauma. It's always a good idea to be open with your partner about what you need and what you're having difficulties with, but it is unfair to expect your partner to deal with the issue the same way a therapist would. If you need help, get help from a professional.

Crowley sat in the Bentley outside of Madame Tracy's house for what felt like hours. It was dark outside and he didn't know if anyone knew he was even back. He couldn't believe what he had just done. It was necessary if he hadn't done something the angels would have kept coming after Aziraphale. And next time, Crowley might not have been able to save them. 

Still, he was waiting for some retaliation, some punishment from God herself that proved he did the wrong thing. He seemed to often do the wrong thing, even when he didn't want to. So he sat in his car waiting for something to happen. He sat in his car, worried that if he were to go into the house, he'd be met with the news that Aziraphale had died in his absence. He sat in his car avoiding the problem, pretending, like he always did. 

A knock on the window startled him.

"Are you going to sit in there all night or are you going to come inside?" Anathema asked, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat.

"I didn't say you could come in." Crowley hissed. 

"Wow, you look terrible. You looked terrible before but now you look like you got run over by a truck." 

"Thanks. You look great too." After transforming into his true form, Crowley's clothes had been ripped and torn. He could have miracled them back to a more decent state, but he was tired and didn't want to expel the energy. He knew he looked like Hell. He probably smelled like it too. 

"So?" Anathema pressed, still not moving from the car despite Crowley's absolutely lovely and welcoming personality. 

"So what?" Why couldn't she let him moan and groan in peace?

"So are you going to sit here all night or come inside? Aziraphale is still asleep, but I don't think he'll be very happy when he wakes up, and I do not have to be the one to deal with that." 

"Then don't," Crowley growled. So Aziraphale was still there. Good. 

Anathema sighed. "Christ, you're just as bad as some of my friends back home." She muttered. "Look, I get that you're scared and you've probably been through a lot today. Newt told me about your little trip and it doesn't take a genius to figure out you went to Heaven to enact some revenge." 

"So?" 

"So, you need to deal with this. You can't keep running away from all your problems. You love Aziraphale--"

"Demon's can't love."

She continued as if he hadn't said anything. "And he loves you. So, go up to his room and actually talk things out. Like adults. Like humans." 

"I'm not a human." 

"Things may not turn out how you wanted, but it's better than living like this." 

"Do you not hear anything I'm saying?" Crowley asked. 

Anathema shrugged and got out of the car. "No, I do. I'm just not rising to the bait. Don't sit in here too much longer. Aziraphale is going to be pissed and you're going to have to deal with it."

She was right, of course, she was bloody right. Crowley hated when other people were right and made him do the work he didn't want to do. But he did want to do it. He still had visions of him and Aziraphale happy at last, perhaps living in a small cottage outside of London, surrounded by Aziraphale's books and Crowley's plants. It would be wonderful. Crowley had learned how to bake all of Aziraphale's favorites. And, of course, there would be the list of little bakeries and bookshops all over the world he had crafted. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and got out of the car. Anathema had a smug feeling swirling about her. 

"Don't let it get to your head," he growled. "Just because you're right this once doesn't mean you're right all the time." 

Anathema said nothing. Crowley stalked into the house and ignored Madame Tracy and Newt's calls, asking if he was okay and what happened and whatnot. Instead, he headed straight up to the room Aziraphale was kept in. His heart, even though he wasn't supposed to have one, was pounding against his ribcage. Could hearts break out of ribcages? Had that ever happened before? 

He stopped at the door, his hands shaking, his entire body shaking. What if he had ruined things permanently between him and Aziraphale? What if this was the final straw and their relationship broke, never to be repaired again. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. _ Quit being a coward. _ He told himself. _ You are a demon, not a child. Quit hiding and face this. Whatever happens, happens. _ Then, almost begrudgingly, he added, _ It's ineffable. _ He knocked on the door, not wanting to startle Aziraphale if he was still awake. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale said from the other side of the door. 

"Yeah, it's me. Checking to see how you're doing." He winced. How could he sound so casual at a time like this? The fate of their relationship hung in the balance, all on what he said next and what he did next and he was talking as if Aziraphale had a bloody cold. 

The door opened. He shouldn't be out of bed yet. Crowley didn't say anything.  
Aziraphale was looking better than when they spoke last. He at least seemed to understand where he was and didn't seem to be in as much pain. An image of Aziraphale's true form flashed in his mind and he shuddered. All this time the Angel was walking around like that, and Crowley never knew. 

"You went to London," Aziraphale's voice was cold and angry. He may be a soft angel, but he was an angel nonetheless and angels could be cold if you pushed them enough. 

Crowley swallowed. "Yeah. I had to do something to make sure they didn't come after you again." 

He stepped inside. "Angel, let's get to bed. You look terrible." If he could just put this off a bit longer, he could think about what to say. 

Aziraphale pulled his arm out of Crowley's hand, gently, but it still hurt. "Crowley, why would you do something so stupid? So dangerous?" 

Crowley looked down at his shoes. He did feel ashamed, had felt it the moment he left. He knew Aziraphale was weak, desperate for someone to help him right now. Desperate for someone to be with him. And yet, Crowley went off, driven by his own anger and pain. He went off to enact revenge on a group of people who could have easily killed him. 

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale," Crowley said, sitting down and clutching his hands together. "I'm so sorry. I was angry. I was angry at the angels, at God, at Hell." He paused and took a deep breath. "At you." 

Aziraphale looked up, his expression one of fear and hurt. Crowley quickly went to rectify the situation. "Not all, in the same way, mind you. I was just angry that you never told me how much they hurt you. I thought you trusted me." 

Aziraphale bit his lip. "I do trust you, Crowley." 

"Evidently not." Shit, he did not mean to say that out loud. 

Aziraphale laughed. "I'm telling you the truth. Do you think I would have called for you if I did not trust you? It's just..." He stood up and started pacing, rubbing his hands together in a way that Crowley knew meant he was nervous and probably overwhelmed. 

"Heaven, Gabriel, he does things to your mind. I don't know if you understand or not, you might... but it makes you think about things in a way that doesn't make much sense. I trust you, I believe in you, yet I can't tell you what's actually going on." He looked at Crowley, his eyes pleading. "I'm telling the truth." 

Crowley smiled, ignoring the tears that were in his eyes. "I know, angel. I know. It's hard for me, though. Because from my point of view, it seems like you're hiding things from me. And you've always pointed out that I'm a demon. I can't feel love. I can't be nice. I can't do the right thing. Horrible things that humanity has done itself, that's all my fault even if I've never even been to the place." 

Aziraphale sat next to him, their knees pressed together. "Crowley, I'm so sorry. I would like to say that I've never meant to make you feel like that, but I probably did. I wanted to be a good angel and good angels... they don't love demons."  
It was the first time Aziraphale had admitted to loving him. It nearly sent him reeling out of his chair in shock. 

"I know. I'm sorry that I never saw what they were doing to you." 

"No, it's not your fault. I didn't want you to see. And in a lot of ways, you were the one that got me through the tough times. Even though it went against everything, I looked forward to your crepes and your music. Even driving in that infernal car." 

Crowley laughed. 

"I really do love you, my dear. But I'm not sure if I can ever love you the way you want, or the way I want. I think Heaven has done too much damage." 

He decided to risk it and put an arm around Aziraphale's shoulders, pulling him close, feeling the life and the essence press into him. 

"That's what therapy is for." 

"Really? You really think me going to therapy is a good idea?" He huffed. "I'm pretty sure they'd throw me in an asylum the moment I start talking about Angels and Demons." 

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'd get you out." 

"What about you?" Aziraphale asked. 

"What about me?" 

"If I remember correctly, our last conversation was you getting angry at me. There must be something more to that than a bad day." 

Crowley stiffened. "Nope, our last conversation was me telling you that you were safe." 

"Crowley." 

"Agh, alright. Fine. Since we're airing everything out." He took a deep breath and tried to calm his fear. This was Aziraphale he was talking to. He could trust Aziraphale. Aziraphale would not mock him or belittle him. 

"Look, Hell isn't a nice place to be. Not by a long shot. Why do you think I worked so hard to stop Armageddon. I didn't want my side to win." 

"Make sense. It is Hell."

He bit his lip. This was harder to talk about than he thought it would be. No wonder Aziraphale never told him anything. 

"It just that... well... they hurt you, down in Hell. I'm not sure if Heaven is like this, but they're always hurting you in some way or another. Hastur has, quite literally, stabbed me in the back so many times and it's never pleasant." 

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. "Oh, that sounds awful. I'm so sorry." 

"I don't really know what I wanted from you. I think I wanted you to acknowledge that being a demon isn't fun or nice or whatever. I wanted you to acknowledge that I had been hurt." Now that he had started, the words would stop. He tried to wrangle back some amount of control, but it was no use. Aziraphale was going to hear it all, whether he wanted to or not. 

"And then you didn't. There was never any 'Hey Crowley, you've been through hell, literally. Have a biscuit.' You were struggling with your own problems at the time, but I didn't realize it." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because of, I... I'm not entirely sure why. I think, on one hand, I didn't want to admit it. On the other hand, I didn't want it to seem like you were humoring me or pitying me." 

Aziraphale pushed back and stared into Crowley's eyes. "My dear, I never once pitied you." 

"I know, angel." 

"Well, we both are a mess, aren't we." 

"Yep." 

"I'm not sure therapy is going to fix all of this." 

"Worth a shot." Crowley shrugged. 

Aziraphale stood up. "I still haven't forgiven you for doing something so stupid and dangerous. Really, Crowley, what were you thinking?" 

"I was thinking I was going to save you, one way or another. Just like I always have." 

Aziraphale smiled and held out a hand. He took it and was pulled to his feet.  
"That's still no excuse." He led them to bed and put them under the covers. 

Somehow, Crowley was in his pajamas, despite not being in them a second before. He was about to say something about frivolous miracles and how Aziraphale really should be saving his strength, but Aziraphale tucked his head under Crowley's chin and wrapped his arms around his torso. Crowley, after getting over the brief moment of shock and _ Holy shit, the love of my life is cuddling with me. _ wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and sank into a blissful sleep. 

High above in Heaven, archangels and angels were screaming in pain as wings were torn. Bones were snapped, and Heavenly bodies were stabbed with invisible knives. Below in Hell, demons were frantically trying to ensure they wouldn't attract the wrath of Crowley. A memo had been sent out, DO NOT MESS WITH THE DEMON CROWLEY. A few demons wouldn't listen. A few demons would disappear, never to be heard from again. No one went looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter with more fluff to finish us off! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos. It's been so much fun writing. See you next week!


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this entire thing written up, ready to go, and then right before I was going to post it I decided I didn't like it and rewrote the entire thing.
> 
> So now I made myself cry during the entire first half. Such it life.

Crowley’s flat was cold, sparse, and sterile. Aziraphale remembered staying the night there after Armageddon. It was so similar to Heaven (just a bit darker) that he had nearly had a panic attack in the doorway. Crowley, ever so perceptive, had quickly taken him to his plant room. Filled with beautiful and lush plants, Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel as though they were back in the garden. Things were simpler in the garden. Safer. 

He had cooed and praised the plants, much to Crowley’s annoyance. Though, Aziraphale had noticed the blush dusting his cheeks and the way his shoulders relaxed, almost as if he was frightened of what Aziraphale would think and do. 

That night in Crowley’s flat was the first time Crowley seemed exposed, vulnerable. It was the first time Aziraphale felt like he was actually seeing him. Not some swaggering demon with a James Bond complex and a desire to look “cool” all the time. It was the first time he had felt like their relationship was more than acquaintances, more than friendship. 

It was the first time Aziraphale realized what it felt like when someone truly loved you. 

After their talk in Madame Tracy’s bedroom, it was decided they would go back to Crowley’s flat, mostly because he had no other option. 

“It’s really gone?” He was trying not to cry. Books were just things after all. It was more important that Crowley was here and alive and that he was out of that cave. 

Crowley didn’t look at him. 

“Where are the books?” Damn, his eyes were wet and it was hard to see. But he couldn’t blink. If he blinked, the tears would roll down his cheeks. 

“I don’t…” Crowley sighed and put a hand on his knee, squeezing it. “I don’t know, angel. I’m so sorry.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. They’re just books. It’s just a shop. At least I still have you?” He hated how pathetic his voice sounded, how it sounded like he was pleading.

Crowley nodded and smiled at him. Without his glasses, Aziraphale could see every emotion, every thought. He never imagined Crowley to be the kind of person, er, demon, to wear his heart on his sleeve. There were a lot of things Aziraphale didn’t know about him.

“Yeah. You have me, forever. I’m not leaving you.” 

“For eternity?” 

Crowley rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “For eternity.” 

And so Aziraphale moved into the flat. They were both walking on eggshells around one another for the first week or so, both still so fragile and broken. Both still so desperate to return to normal as quickly as possible. 

It didn’t last long. Aziraphale ignored his injuries, still present even after all Adam had done. It was foolish, he knew, but he also didn’t want to face what had happened. He loved Heaven, despite everything. He loved Gabriel and Uriel and Michael. (He could do without Sandalphon). He couldn’t help but remember the good times, the highs. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way to get them back, to do better, to be better. He didn’t tell Crowley this. It would only make him angry. 

It only took a week for him to collapse in pain from his broken and twisted wings. It only took a week for Crowley to get mad at him for hiding his injuries. It only took a week for Aziraphale to accidentally admit that he was still hopeful things would work out for the better. 

He awoke on Crowley’s bed. Crowley was sitting in a chair across from him, looking down at his hands. 

“Crowley, I--”

Crowley held up a hand and shook his head. Now Aziraphale had gone and done it. Now he had truly ruined everything. Was he doomed to destroy all of his relationships? Was that his punishment for giving away his sword?

“Angel, I’m going to say some things, but I need you to promise to sit and listen until I’m done.” 

“Crowley--”

“Look, I’m not… good with words. I just,” he sighed and looked up. His eyes were red from crying. “I just want to make sure you know I love you and I’m trying my best to think logically, but it’s so hard, angel.” His voice cracked and he blinked back tears. 

“Please, promise me, no matter how hard it gets, that you’ll stay here until I’m done?” 

Aziraphale’s back hurt, phantom pains from phantom wings. He nodded. “I’m sorry, my dear. I’m sorry for mucking it all up.” 

Crowley shook his head. “No, we’re both a mess. I know what I need to do. I know what you need to do. We need help, angel. Outside help but it feels like I’m admitting defeat. Like I’m not strong enough to deal with all of this on my own.” 

Aziraphale crawled out of the bed and knelt in front of him, taking his hands and squeezing them. 

“I’m scared,” Crowley admitted. “I’m scared and now I have to rely on someone else to help fix me, to see every ugly part of myself and what if I can’t be fixed?” 

It was a feeling that was all too familiar to Aziraphale. What if the therapist threw up their hands and admitted defeat? What if Aziraphale deserved everything that had happened to him? These thoughts were swirling around his head, pounding at his soul in the voices of everyone who had ever looked down at him. It was hard to fight. But he knew that Crowley, beautiful, wonderful, _kind_ Crowley deserved all the happiness in the world and more. And if Crowley deserved it, didn’t that mean Aziraphale deserved it to? At least a shot at it?

“You’re not broken, Crowley. We need help. We deserve help.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me about your injuries? Why didn’t you tell me you were still thinking about those assholes?” 

“Because it’s shameful!” Aziraphale said, standing up and walking to the window. “I know, logically, what they did was wrong but I can’t help but agree with them. I can’t help but think they were right. My mind is…” He gripped his hair and let out a cry. “They’re still messing with it and they aren’t even here. I didn’t want you to get angry. I didn’t want you to have to deal with me. I know you love me, but I can’t seem to understand what that means, even after all this time.” 

Arms encircled his waist and he was pulled back against Crowley’s body. He felt his forehead pressed to his neck and his heart pounding against his back. 

“We need help. We deserve help.” He echoed. 

The relative calm wouldn’t last long. One of them would have an anxiety attack or panic attack. Aziraphale’s injuries would act up again. Crowley would have night terrors. 

“Angel,” he whispered. “Let me help with your injuries. Please, let me try and heal them.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Only if you get some help.”

“Only if you get some too.” 

That was three months ago. It took some minor miracles and a lot of work, but they finally found two therapists who would help them. The minor miracles had been to...nudge them to a more open state of belief so they didn’t have to lie about their actual past. 

At first, Aziraphale felt like they weren’t doing anything. It felt as though things were getting worse. He sometimes didn’t make it ten seconds before bursting into tears on the plush couch in the therapist’s office. Crowley would snap more. Sometimes they’d get into heated arguments about the smallest of things. Aziraphale would snap more. It got to the point where he almost gave up on it entirely. 

Then things started to get better. He noticed it when Crowley slammed the door during an argument and Aziraphale didn’t immediately spiral into self-loathing and shame. He was so happy, he forgot the argument entirely, including the bit where Crowley was mad at him, and chased after him, squeezing and telling him what had just happened. 

Crowley laughed, picked Aziraphale up and spun him around. 

A few weeks later, Crowley burst into the study while Aziraphale was reading and said, “Angel! One of my plants has a spot and I’m not going to get rid of it! I also complimented the fern!” 

Aziraphale hugged him so tightly, Crowley joked his bones were going to break. 

Things were still bad. Things were still hard. Some days Aziraphale couldn’t see any progress. But the days he could see progress made him want to keep going, want to keep living. 

1 Year Later

They were sitting in the bathroom, Aziraphale’s wings were out and Crowley was carefully putting salve on the bare spots, removing any broken feathers, and helping him with some physical therapy exercises to strengthen them back up (Crowley had taken a few classes on veterinary practices for birds, much to Aziraphale’s exasperation).

He winced at Crowley worked at a particularly tender spot. 

“Sorry about that. How are they feeling?” 

“Tickety-boo.” Aziraphale ground out. He hated this. After they were done with the wings, he’d then have to do painful exercises for his leg. Between the mental discomfort of therapy and the physical discomfort of physical therapy, Aziraphale was starting to understand why humans did not enjoy seeking out help and treatment. 

“I know. Almost done,” Crowley said. “Your range of motion has gotten a lot better though. And your feathers are coming back in nicely. Few more months and they should be almost completely healed.”

“They’re never going to be the same.” He knew the damage had been too great. He would always have problems with his body. It made him hate Gabriel even more. 

Crowley kissed the top of his head. “I know, angel. But the pain is less, right?”

“Except when you do that horrid pushing and pulling exercise. Must we do that every night?” 

Crowley laughed and kissed him again. “Yes, angel. It’s the only way you’ll get better. Besides, yesterday you squatted down to pick up that book and didn’t even wince.”

That had been a wonderful realization.

Crowley stood up and dusted off the feathers. “Let’s have lunch and then do the legs afterward. Make sure to drink the water.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly. Crowley had a knack for medicine and healing. It was kind of nice to be cared for, for once. He’d have to do something special for Crowley soon. There was going to a ‘Shakespeare in the Park’ event happening in a few weeks and Aziraphale had gotten tickets for all of Crowley’s favorites (even if they weren't originally on the roster). Only the funny ones. He also had been learning how to bake and was planning on making deviled eggs, devil’s food cake and angel’s food cake for them to snack on. Aziraphale would probably eat most of it, but Crowley loved the irony. 

The doorbell rang. How odd. In the months Aziraphale had been living there, he had never once heard that doorbell. He was starting to suspect no one ever visited Crowley.

“I’ll get it,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale bit his lip and miracled himself into a shirt, not having time to do it the human way. What if it was Heaven or Hell, come to take their revenge? He had to protect Crowley.

Standing in the door was a very familiar human. Where had Aziraphale seen him before?

“Ah, yes, are you, Mister…” He looked down at the name. “Mister Azeeraphile?” 

Aziraphale winced at the pronunciation. Crowley looked like he was trying to decide if he should eat the man or terrify him. 

“Yes, that’s me.” He stepped forward. 

The human did not seem as though he was an operative for their former head offices, but one never could be too careful. 

The man beamed. “Wonderful, almost thought I had the wrong place. Nice flat you got yourself here, sir.” He pulled out a clipboard and handed it to him. 

INTERNATIONAL POST DELIVERY  
AZIRAPHALE, PRINCIPALITY, ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE  
MR. ANTHONY J CROWLEY (FORMERLY KNOWN AS CRAWLY), DEMON  
MAYFAIR FLAT  
LONDON, UK

Aziraphale looked at Crowley who seemed just as confused. 

“Sign here, sir.” 

He did and handed the clipboard back to the man. 

“Wonderful. Here you go.” He handed Aziraphale a large envelope. Inside, something was hard. 

“Thank you.” 

“No problem, sir. You have a wonderful day.” He waved goodbye and made his way back down the hall. 

“What is it?” Crowley asked. 

He tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with an address and a set of keys. 

“No idea. Should we go?” 

Crowley looked uncomfortable at the idea. “It might be a trick.” 

“It’s not from Heaven,” Aziraphale said, looking at the address. "This isn’t their handwriting.” It did look familiar, though. There was an essence coming off of it that was so comforting, so kind. He made no mention of it. 

Crowley took the note and sniffed it. “No brimstone. Not from Hell.” 

The drive was relatively short. It was a storage facility, just outside of London. Rows and rows of identical metal crates spread out in varying sizes. 

“Odd. You know anything about this?” Crowley asked as they were lead towards the back. 

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“Here you are.” The owner took the keys and undid the lock of a spectacularly large storage container. “If you want it delivered somewhere, come to the front office and we can talk options.”

With the lock undone, he handed the keys back to Aziraphale and headed back to his office. 

They looked at each other. 

“Ready to see what’s behind door number one?” Crowley asked. 

He swatted his shoulder. “You and your references. Let’s get this over with.” 

They gripped the bottom of the metal door and pulled it up. Aziraphale blinked, trying to determine if what he was seeing was fake or not. 

“Oh, oh angel.” Crowley breathed, his hand finding Aziraphale’s and gripping it tightly. 

“It’s all here.” He put a hand to his cheek, his body relaxing as he took in the sight of his books, misprints and all, stacked neatly in the container. “All of my books.” 

Crowley hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead. Aziraphale laughed. He had convinced himself that he was fine without his books. They were just things after all. But seeing them here, they were more than things. They were a part of him. They were a reflection of all that he loved about humanity and Earth. All that he loved about Crowley. 

He wandered through the stacks, taking it all in. There was a glint in the corner that caught his eye. He made his way over and saw a beautiful ring sitting on top of some papers. 

_When you are ready, you have my blessing and my apology._ The note said. 

Aziraphale picked up the ring, an engagement ring, no doubt and studied it. It was a pair of silver wings with a gold snake wrapped around it. It was beautiful and simple. Underneath the note were several listings for cottages in South Downs. 

It appeared the almighty was more than all right with their relationship. 

“Angel!” Crowley called. Aziraphale slipped the ring into the pocket. He wasn’t ready, not yet. “You’re not going to believe this, but all your wine is here.” Crowley came around the corner, grinning and holding up a bottle. 

He wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and kissed his cheek. “How about I miracle all this stuff back to my flat and then we have a picnic to celebrate?” 

Aziraphale smiled and kissed Crowley. “That sounds wonderful, my love.” 

He’d tell Crowley about the cottage listings later that night. In a few years, when he felt truly stable and the abuse of his past was much more manageable, he’d get down on one knee and propose. For now, going on a picnic and simply being with Crowley, was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, gave kudos and enjoyed this fic. I am so glad so many people liked it and I really enjoyed writing it. It pushed my abilities as a writer and made me confront some hard truths about mental health and relationships. No one deserves to be hurt mentally or physically and I hope everyone realizes this at some point.

**Author's Note:**

> All aboard the angst train! Let's project our own feelings onto Aziraphale and Crowley. Should turn out well.


End file.
